


Daybreak

by apathyinreverie



Series: Tipping the scales [5]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec against the Clave, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Alec Lightwood, BAMF Magnus Bane, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Power Couple Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Powerful Magnus Bane, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathyinreverie/pseuds/apathyinreverie
Summary: The one where Alec doesn’t run away after the memory demon summoning, instead he stays at the loft for a little longer. Possibly even a little too long, depending on who you ask.Or, what if Alec had gotten a clue just a little earlier.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Tipping the scales [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652476
Comments: 253
Kudos: 440
Collections: To remember and cherish





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the full-fic version of the 'Gravity' snippet in Tipping the Scales. The first two chapteres are exactly the same as in the collection, everything else is new. 
> 
> Also, for the sake of reducing some of the (utterly unnecessary) drama, the attack by the Circle on the lair didn’t succeed in this, so just pretend the Circle simply didn’t manage to bring down the wards even in Magnus’ absence or something along those lines. If only because I see no reason to senselessly kill off quite a number of warlocks just so that Team Disaster could swan in to save the day.
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

Alec keeps himself utterly still, face impassive, makes sure that nothing shows on his face, that none of his thoughts, none of his uncertainty lingers in his expression, none of his desperate need to go over to where Jace is currently lying on the floor, trying to get his breath back.

Because this is Alec’s fault. It’s his fault that Jace almost got hurt, by screwing up so badly during the demon summoning just a few minutes ago, the guilt at his earlier overreaction a hot, uncomfortable mass coiling in his chest.

He still lets none of it show, hides his thoughts and his guilt and his uncertainty, perfectly in control of his expression and his body language.

Alec is good at that, at faking it. Either faking whatever the world wants to see of him or to not show anything at all. He’s been doing it for so long that he sometimes even forgets that it’s a front he is presenting and not whatever he might really be thinking. Then again, he’s used to it, no matter how disturbing it seems even to himself that he occasionally barely recognizes himself anymore, so buried underneath the masks he wears for other people’s benefit.

He keeps his face utterly impassive as he watches Jace being consoled by Clary, Izzy hovering beside them, guilt eating at him.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Magnus coming closer to where Alec is standing a little removed from the others in the doorway of the ritual room. Alec doesn’t acknowledge him, does his best to ignore the warlock likely on his way back towards his living room, continues to do so even when the man doesn’t in fact move past him, instead comes to a stop barely a step away from him, eyes focused on Alec.

A slight pause.

Then, softly, Magnus’ voice serious but definitely aiming for reassuring, “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Alec.”

Alec doesn’t even look at the warlock who is definitely standing closer to him than would generally be considered polite, instead keeps his eyes fixed on where Jace is trying to get his breath back, keeps his voice even, toneless, impassively unconcerned as he returns, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Admittedly, the way it comes out, it doesn’t sound particularly convincing even to his own ears.

Another pause, then a soft sigh.

“You will,” Magnus finally hums, something between casual and so incredibly weighty in his voice, as he finally moves past Alec towards his living room.

And something in Alec… takes notice.

Something about the way Magnus just said that, so very casually addressing something Alec has been trying to hide for so long, but without accusation or even any sort of judgment in his voice, has Alec turn the slightest bit, has him look away from Jace, eyes following Magnus instead, something almost resignedly wistful running through him.

Because… Wouldn’t that be nice? The idea that there is nothing wrong with Alec, that he is good enough as he is, that he doesn’t have to hide large parts of himself from everyone around him just to fit into other people’s mold of him, to always be the perfect soldier, the one who follows orders and never lets his own doubts show.

Something clenches in his chest at that thought. Yes, the idea of getting to be entirely himself, of being good enough _by_ being himself, of not hiding, not pretending, not pushing everything he feels behind the walls he has built around himself, to the point where his own family seems unable to see behind his masks anymore.

Masks that Magnus Bane rather clearly has no trouble seeing beyond.

It’s likely that thought, the thought of someone actually seeing him for once, seeing Alec and liking what they see, the thought of maybe even getting a few moments, just a couple of minutes, to be entirely himself, that has Alec stay behind at the apartment even when the others leave.

He doesn’t say anything to Izzy or Jace, doesn’t announce it, much less explain it, face impassive and unreadable as always, even as he sees Magnus’ lips quirking up the slightest bit from the corner of his eye when the warlock realizes that Alec is making no move to leave with the others, caught somewhere between feeling grateful and even somewhat surprised when Magnus doesn’t speak up to protest Alec staying behind.

He doesn’t acknowledge Magnus’ reaction at all, instead meets Izzy’s grin and eyebrow-wriggle with his usual neutral stare, expression shuttered, all of himself buried underneath his masks, beneath the weight of who he _should_ be. Until his sister’s amusement vanishes from her face, replaced with a slight, worried frown, possibly even realizing that there is more to this.

And usually, Alec would hide his disappointment – in her, in Jace, in everything that’s been happening, in all the choices they’ve been making.

But Alec is tired. Tired of pretending that any of this is okay, that what has been happening these past few days doesn’t feel like what little he thought he could openly claim to be _his_ being ripped out from underneath him. Like Izzy and Jace’s disregard doesn’t hurt on a level that Alec honestly thought he would never have to guard himself against, not quite having counted on ever having to protect himself from the two of them, never having even questioned their loyalty to him, same as he is immovably loyal to them in return. But suddenly finding himself doubting whether his devotion is nearly as self-evidently reciprocated by them as he had always thought.

Sure, nothing really bad has even happened yet, no irreparable damage done. But Alec can see which way the wind is blowing, somehow already knows how all of this is going to play out, can tell that Jace is getting ever-more sucked into the little girl’s schemes, her woe-is-me act, same for Izzy. There is something in him that already knows that, by the end of it, Alec’s will not be the side Izzy and Jace will be choosing.

He pushes the thought away, a problem he cannot fix, doesn’t even know whether he wants to. If he has to force them into choosing his side instead of that of a near-stranger, no matter how prettily she pouts, then, really, what is their loyalty even going to be worth anymore.

Alec has been raised as the Lightwood heir ever since before he even hit his teens, has watched his parents navigate political minefields and play power games for more than a decade, has been trained to one day take up the mantle of head of house, has been training for longer than even his siblings are aware of. So, he rather easily recognizes manipulation when he sees it, even if it comes in the form of some woe-is-me little girl with mundane ideals of equality and puppy-dog eyes gleaming with manipulation.

But Jace and Izzy are falling for it, delighted to hear so many of their own beliefs mirrored in Clary’s self-righteous words, never realizing that the girl merely picked up on several of their own objections to the status quo and is now simply spewing said criticisms about their world right back at Alec’s family, happily switching between supposedly righteous intent for bettering the world and forlornly claiming she is only trying to save her mother, depending on which one is going to get her the best results.

The manipulation is rather heavy-handed, absolutely inelegant, and possibly not even entirely intentional. But Alec is also clearly the only one who sees it.

So, yes, he is tired. Or rather, tired doesn’t even cover it. He is exhausted. To the point that he honestly just wants to sit down somewhere and close his eyes and maybe sleep for a month or two, in the hopes that everything will have settled once he wakes, that things will have fallen where they may, and that he’ll have made it past the shifting loyalties, able to simply work on fixing everything for everyone else once more instead of living through it.

He watches as Jace leaves – easily stepping through the portal Magnus made for them, eyes fixed on Clary, her hand settled softly on his arm, rather effectively focusing all of his attention on her – without a single backwards glance, without even noticing that Alec isn’t following him at all. Something in Alec’s chest tightens, a resigned sort of pain at the realization that his parabatai is currently so caught up in this girl, he doesn’t even notice Alec not being right beside him. Then again, maybe that’s actually Alec’s fault, considering the mess he just made during the ritual.

Thing is, no matter how his overreaction might have come across to the others, Alec knows he isn’t in love with Jace, that’s not the problem, never has been. Hell, Alec has never been truly attracted to anyone at all, at least not really, not beyond noticing someone particularly good-looking from time to time. Which doesn’t change the fact that his and Jace’s connection is still the closest bond he has in his life, nothing to distract himself from it, no attraction to other people to let him even pretend it’s not as singular, as unparalleled a bond as it is to Alec. He’s even fine with it not being the same for Jace, perfectly okay with the fact that they are simply different in that regard.

Still, he isn’t actually attracted _to_ Jace physically, never has been.

The mere idea almost makes him want to snort in amusement. Alec just doesn’t really do attraction. Even more, if it weren’t for the fact that with men he can at least admit when they are… aesthetically pleasing, while he has never found a single woman even the slightest bit attractive, Alec might even claim he simply doesn’t see other people that way. Sometimes, he even almost wishes that were the case. Simply not being attracted to anyone at all would certainly be simpler to figure out than this weird in-between thing where he does find men in general attractive but has never actually been attracted _to_ any particular one. He doesn’t even know what to call that. Can you be gay despite never having been attracted to another man?

Well, then again, it’s not like it matters.

Alec is the Lightwood heir, forever loyal to his family, _first_. He is a Shadowhunter, as perfect of one as he can make himself, _second_. And then… there is nothing really after that.

Personal happiness just isn’t on the table for him, never has been, at least not as a basis for any sort of decision he might ever make, no matter how much he might sometimes let himself dream about what his life could be like, the things he’d wish he could have. If only he’d let himself fight for himself with the same uncompromising ferocity as he fights for those he cares about.

Alec is perfectly aware of all of this.

Don’t get him wrong, he does his job out of conviction, is proud of how good of a Shadowhunter he is, that he has a perfect mission record where the hunting of demons is concerned.

But he also hates aspects of it, hates that being a ‘good’ Shadowhunter includes following every order he is given, even those that have little or nothing to do with eradicating demons and is far more about consolidating the Clave’s power by going after Downworlders instead, hates that it forces him to be someone he’s not, hates that sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he almost doesn’t recognize himself for the dichotomy of what he is feeling inside and how little of it is showing on the outside.

Alec doesn’t have the luxury of being himself, not anywhere and not with anyone.

But here, in the apartment of a warlock who Alec rather likely won’t get to see again after today, maybe for once he can just have a few moments to himself, to be who he is instead of who everyone imagines him to be, wants him to be, _expects_ him to be.

So, he stays. Stays at the apartment, witnesses Magnus magically transport the entire apartment to a different location, takes in the new location, instead of an artificially illuminated apartment, now a loft with large floor-to-ceiling windows, doors leading out to a balcony with a rather incredible view across the city. Alec pushes aside the question of why Magnus waited for the others to leave before he did so, thinks he might already know the answer but not willing to think about it any deeper.

“How about some drinks?” Magnus asks, eyes focused on Alec, gaze warm and intent and so obviously interested.

Alec nods, but doesn’t say anything beyond that, instead proceeds to wander out onto the balcony, to better appreciate the view and maybe give himself few seconds to think about what exactly he is doing here, pretends nonchalance even if he feels anything but.

Surprisingly, he still doesn’t regret his decision to stay behind even now. No, Alec thinks it’s okay if he grants himself a little longer of this, just a few moments to himself, to stay here with the warlock who has so clearly seen behind pretty much all of Alec’s masks with an ease that should scare him but that mostly feels almost comforting in a way. Comfort at finally getting the chance to breathe, to sit out here on the balcony overlooking the city, being himself, breathing freely, not having to keep his face utterly neutral lest he give anything of himself away. Considering that his masks don’t really seem to work on Magnus anyway, the knowledge that his usual pretense is entirely useless here has a sort of bone-deep relief running through him that even Alec himself honestly hadn’t quite anticipated.

And as he watches Magnus appear in the doorway leading to the living room, two cocktail glasses in hand and a genuine – _prettyprettypretty_ – smile on his face, that same sort of _interestwarmthintent_ in his eyes, there is suddenly a part of Alec wondering whether he should not just let this happen, whether he shouldn’t just let himself fall into this, to just let Magnus seduce him, this warlock who is clearly interested in him, hasn’t made a secret of his attraction to Alec at all. He honestly wonders whether this might not be his one and only chance to find out what it’s like to be with someone he admittedly does find attractive, can admit that Magnus is rather ridiculously attractive. A warlock who is clearly interested in him, who he likely won’t see again, who won’t care if Alec goes right back to pretending afterwards, might be his best, _his only_ , chance.

Everyone gets to feel that, gets to feel being close to someone, the pleasure of it, the warmth. Alec just wants it once. Surely, if he has that, if he at least knows what it’s like, he’ll be able to push it aside, to be satisfied with having had that - sex and pleasure and heat, to know what it’s like to want someone and be wanted in return - and afterwards go back to how his life used to be.

Alec knows that he’ll marry a girl as is expected of him at some point in his life. Or, at most, if he can somehow manage to swing sparing himself that particular bit of torture, he’ll never marry at all, stay by himself and leave it up to Izzy and Max to continue their family line. But either way, the Clave’s doctrines will never allow Alec to be with another man openly, will never allow him to have what he actually wants.

And, a life conscribed to duty or not, somehow the thought that he might never get to find out what it’s like to be with someone he finds attractive at all, is a little too depressing. Even for Alec.

He still recognizes that if he doesn’t take this chance, right here, right now, he’ll quite likely never get around to letting himself have this at all. 

Magnus honestly doesn’t expect the kiss.

They’ve been talking, just chatting about everything and nothing, about today’s events and everything that could have gone wrong but thankfully didn’t, about wards and summoning theory, about Shadowhunter missions and the struggle of keeping self-important teenagers safe from their own delusions.

It’s been about an hour since the other nephilim disappeared through the portal Magnus made for them, and the longer they talk the more Alexander seems to relax, this gorgeous man’s soft, amused chuckles, the slightest hint at dimples from the smile playing around his lips, the softly crinkled eyes at some of Magnus’ anecdotes… It’s all really rather breathtaking if Magnus is entirely honest.

Earlier, when Alexander had decided to stay while the other nephilim filed through the portal, casually staying behind as though he had ever been invited to do anything of the sort, Magnus had already been more than a little surprised. Don’t get him wrong, the invitation was definitely there, even if unspoken. But Magnus never honestly expected Alexander to take him up on the offer at all.

Still, Magnus had been rather delighted at the surprising turn, the promise of something nice potentially coming of this rather desperately chaotic day, what with his not-so-wonderful decision to go to that meeting at the rave at all, leaving his warlocks with far less protection than he ever should have. Magnus can only be grateful that his wards ended up holding even in his absence and despite the Circle doing their very best to bring them down. Everything might have ended up working out fine, but the entire day has been far too full of balanced-on-knife’s-edge events, if you ask him.

They’ve been talking for about an hour and Magnus is relaxed, delighted at how easily their conversation is flowing, how it's effortlessly moving from serious topics to cheerful anecdotes to political views and back again. He is laughing at a particularly sardonic comment Alexander made a moment before, the nephilim’s surprisingly dry sort of humor an honest delight to discover.

And suddenly, there are lips on his.

Magnus blinks, takes a second longer to react than he usually would due to the sheer unexpectedness of the kiss.

It’s soft, just a meeting of lips, not overly eager or aggressive or even like Alexander is trying to prove anything, to Magnus or to himself. To the contrary. It’s almost tender, gentle, careful in a way Magnus thinks he hasn’t been kissed in a couple of decades if not longer. He’d be tempted to call it sweet, possibly even chaste. If it weren’t for the immediate heat the contact sends through him, the instant draw, the way he finds himself automatically leaning into it, the way he feels Alexander pull him in a little closer with the hand on his shoulder, their lips moving together softly.

They break apart for a breath, just a moment of sharing breath, but before Magnus can get more than the barest of glimpses at the other man’s expression, Alexander is already leaning in once more, clearly wanting another kiss.

Magnus lets himself lean into it once more, can’t quite help it. And he is tempted - so so very tempted - to try and take this further, to let this progress into something more, the mere thought of having this gorgeous man in his bed sending pure heat pulsing through him.

But in the end something stops him. There is just something about this, about the thought of taking Alexander to bed without any chance of a repeat, without the possibility of making this soft, or of ever reaching the sort of intimacy Magnus so prefers with his partners, the sort of which a quick tumble between the sheets never affords you.

He knows it’s rather unlikely that he’ll actually get that chance at the real thing with Alexander either, if only due to societal restraints. But Magnus would rather prefer not to ruin what little chance he might have by letting this go where the nephilim is clearly trying to take it. Not after spending the evening together and realizing just how easily he can imagine having Alexander in his life, how perfectly he would fit. How permanently Magnus would rather like to keep him there.

Magnus pulls away to put some distance between them, even if not all that much, and Alexander moves away at the slightest push, though remaining close.

They breathe in each other’s space and Magnus can’t help but be honestly surprised just how affected he is by a simple kiss, just a few moments, mere minutes, of real contact.

“Alexander,” Magnus says quietly.

“I just wanted to know what it’s like,” the Shadowhunter says, cutting off anything else Magnus might have wanted to say.

Though, that one little sentence is already more than enough.

Because… Well, he perfectly gets what Alexander intended to say with that, gets the implications. _All_ of them. And, sure, while Alexander might just mean he ‘wanted to know what kissing _Magnus_ is like’, as in compared to anyone else. But Magnus somehow knows that isn’t it at all. The revelation of what Alexander is saying has instant electricity running along Magnus’ skin, pure want coiling through him, heat pulling at something inside him, a soft breath rushing out of him.

He can’t quite help the way his hold tightens where his hands rest on the Shadowhunter’s waist, the way his fingers curl a little further into the fabric of Alexander’s shirt, a sort of heated possessiveness running through him that he should absolutely be above feeling but apparently just isn’t.

“Could I-,” Alec starts again before Magnus ever gets the chance to say anything at all, the nephilim’s eyes intent on him, something watchful and definitely a little careful in his eyes as he then asks, “Can I kiss you again?”

Magnus blinks at the soft but determined and so-very-straightforward question. But then feels a slight smile tilting his lips, delights in the way Alexander’s eyes promptly flit down, before returning to focus on his eyes once more when Magnus reaches up to softly rest one of his hands against the side of his face, lets it curve around Alexander’s jaw, thumb running gently along his cheekbone, and finally leaning in once more, lips meeting softly.

It would take a stronger man than Magnus to say no to this.

And why would he, anyway.

+++

When Alec returns to the Institute later that night – or more like, early morning – none of the others seem to be around anymore, the three of them likely asleep. He is rather glad that he doesn’t have to deal with Jace or Izzy or – most of all – Clary right now, his mind whirling, too many thoughts running through his head at once.

He just spent a couple of hours with Magnus, having drinks, talking, making out. They hadn’t let it progress beyond that, contrary to what Magnus might have intended right after they met, and contrary to where Alec himself had honestly been considering taking it at some point.

Then again, Alec is honestly glad they didn’t take it further.

Not because he thinks he would have disliked sleeping with Magnus or that he'd even have really regretted it. Not even because Magnus is a warlock or because he’s a man or because it would have been Alec’s first time. To the contrary, the longer they stayed out there on the balcony, talking, about everything and nothing at all, the more Alec felt his initial attraction to the warlock grow, felt it turn from vague physical appreciation into something far more concrete, into actual attraction. There is just something about Magnus that seems to ever-further draw him in and, with it being the first time Alec actually got to relax in so long he can barely even remember, he might admittedly have forgotten to fight said pull, that connection between them.

Alec tilts his head, eyes focused on the screens in front of him where he is doing his usual morning check of the mission roster, but for a moment not actually seeing anything as he recalls last night, thinks of the way Magnus hadn’t really moved away from him throughout the entire evening after that first kiss, had stayed leaning into Alec’s side whenever they were talking, so close and pretty and mesmerizing, expression open and eyes kind.

So, no, he doesn’t regret the kiss – though, _kisses_ , as in plural, would be more accurate – as such. But in the days afterwards, Alec starts to realize that that entire evening might still have been the biggest mistake he has made in his life yet.

For no other reason than that, even after just kissing Magnus, Alec can barely manage to pull his mind away from the warlock anymore.

Kissing Magnus had been utterly perfect, everything Alec ever hoped for and so much more at the same time. And now, Alec seems incapable of thinking about anything else, head filled with memories of Magnus, his lips soft against Alec’s during that first kiss, neither toe-curlingly hot nor desperately passionate, but warm in a way that he has let himself dream of in some of his weaker moments. Thinks of the intensity of their second kiss, of Magnus’ warm weight against Alec’s chest during the kisses afterwards, the hot slide of his tongue, hand curving gently around his jaw, the feeling of his fingers tangling in his hair at the back of his head...

So, if kissing Magnus already has him this distracted, Alec doesn’t even want to imagine what it would be like if they’d taken it beyond just a couple of kisses, his distraction already enough to make him cringe a little inside, even as nothing shows on the outside, has once more hidden all of himself away behind masks and impenetrable façades.

Which doesn’t change the fact that his lips tingle slightly at the memory of that night.

Yes, Alec thinks he might really have screwed himself there.

Because, sure, just as he intended, now he knows _exactly_ what it’s like to kiss someone he is attracted to, knows what it’s like to kiss _Magnus_. The part he didn’t expect, however, is that for the first time he isn’t certain anymore whether giving up any chance at ever having that in his life is a sacrifice he is willing to make any longer.

Not now that he knows what he'd be missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’ve been wondering for a while now how things might have turned out in canon if they had made the various romantic entanglements of the meant-to-be couples less of the Hollywood teen movie sort of puppy romance (for all that I adore fluff in general, will forever be an absolute sucker for anything hinting at even vaguely soulmate-y connections, and I will never write Malec as anything except exactly that). However, with Magnus being a couple of centuries old and Alec having grown up a soldier in a warrior culture, the whole Alec-doesn’t-know-himself thing, never mind that entire will-I-won’t-I indecisiveness the writers had them go through for three seasons, seemed a little ridiculous to me.
> 
> Also, there will be at least one more part to this (which also includes the plunny poll scene), however, fair warning: This entire thing is going to be far harsher in its depiction of Shadowhunter culture and society because, honestly, what little we got to see of it in canon was more than a little fucked up in my eyes, and this is me for once not pretending as though those bits about a racist, pure-breeding, homophobic, openly genocidal culture was in any way okay. So, there. 
> 
> Would love to know what you think :D


	2. Chapter 2

Alec only hears about the necklace Clary got from her mother the next day, hears how Clary and Jace spent the entire last evening trying to see as much as they could through it. You know, by way of the visions that Valentine was sending them. On purpose.

It has Alec furious, a baffled sort of anger at Jace’s disregard for rules that go far beyond Clave laws, instead put in place in order to keep the entire Institute safe from outside threats.

It’s more than a breach in protocol, goes against every single directive they have at the Institute about magical artifacts and making use of them without knowing exactly what they are or what they can do or who they might have been made by for what reason.

Which isn’t even taking into account that Valentine had apparently made it perfectly clear he knew Clary would be getting said visions – using all the subtlety of _saying her name_ – und thereby instantly negating any value the information gleaned might have had.

It also means that those ‘visions’ are anything but. They are a message, a lure, a means. Even though Alec doesn’t quite know yet to what end.

But that’s absolutely not the point.

The point is that neither Clary nor Jace had seemingly considered that those ‘visions’ were not only based entirely on whatever Valentine might want them to know – and therefore useless – but also that there is no way of knowing whether Valentine might not have watching Clary – and whatever might have been going on around her – right back. There is no way of knowing whether that connection had been one-way.

Alec tries to rein in the sheer fury running through him as Jace casually details what they had been up to while Alec wasn’t at the Institute, Clary an earnestly wide-eyed barnacle at his parabatai’s side, and Izzy – to Alec’s disappointment – simply nodding along with the conclusions these two have seen fit to draw from the ‘visions’. All Alec can think about is whether Valentine might not have been watching them right back and how much information he might have potentially gleaned in return.

Jace and Izzy know better than this. At least they _should_. Or, well, at least Alec thought they did.

He clenches his teeth.

He doesn’t know why, but this, them playing around with a magical artifact they know nothing about, so happily caught up in their treasure hunt of clues, their self-righteous little adventure, that they are not even seeing that they are potentially putting the security of the entire Institute at risk. Just for their own entertainment or curiosity or whatever-the-hell is currently driving them. It has Alec angry and disappointed and feeling so utterly let-down by the two of them. What is he supposed to make of them showing themselves to be _so much less_ than Alec thought they could possibly ever be in his eyes.

And he apparently isn’t alone in thinking so.

Because, standing in the middle of the ops center, listening to Izzy and Jace so casually talk about disregarding rules and laws and directives, so clearly not even seeing anything wrong with what they did, like Shadowhunter law simply don’t apply to them, like Izzy and Jace are the exception to every single damn rule they are supposed to live by… So, Alec sees how some of the other Shadowhunters throw glances Izzy and Jace’s way, sees how they watch Jace letting himself be sucked in by a mundane’s obvious schemes, how Izzy is just following along.

It’s made even worse by the fact that Izzy and Jace are doing all of it for the sake of someone they aren’t even supposed to have any loyalty to – at least not when compared to the people here, people they’ve known for decades, people they’ve worked with for years – and for a cause they haven’t actually subscribed to. So, Alec not only sees the frowns on the other Shadowhunters’ faces, but he also gets their baffled sort of frustration, the discontent murmurs hanging in the air at the ops center, frustration at Izzy and Jace getting to break all the rules, even obvious ones. You know, rules like not bringing mundanes into the Institute, like not putting the balance of the Shadowworld at risk by messing with the Downworld, like not compromising the security of the entire Institute and everyone in it. Obvious, _self-evident_ rules, which are there for a reason.

Never mind that there doesn’t even seem to be a good reason for Izzy and Jace’s recent actions, nothing that would make it at least understandable why they made the choices they did.

There is no cataclysmic catastrophe hanging on the horizon, no immediate threat, no enemy beyond the one they have all been fighting against for years now. Sure, the situation is tense, Clave-Downworld politics forever balanced on knife’s edge, Valentine a festering cancer forever straining their world, prejudice and bigotry running rampant on all sides. But that’s nothing new. And it’s certainly no excuse for how anyone – much less Izzy and Jace who, in their roles as Lightwoods, adopted or not, are supposed to help lead their entire Institute – to think themselves so far above the rules they would so happily put everyone’s safety at risk for goals they don’t seem to have defined beyond ‘helping Clary’, the outside they have only known for a couple of days.

And that excuse they keep using? The whole ‘trying to get Clary’s mother back’? The way they seem entirely undeterred by the sheer number of lives they continue putting at risk with their actions, solely for the sake of one non-Clave Shadowhunter, who chose to leave the Clave behind for her own beliefs, and her daughter?

That’s nowhere near good enough a reason in Alec’s eyes.

The ridiculous part is that out of the three of them, he absolutely understands Clary the best. Her uncompromising stance on protecting her family above all else is something Alec can more than sympathize with, knows himself and his own tendency to rip the world apart for those he cares about. So, if he is honest he can’t even fault her for her recent actions. But Izzy and Jace? Their loyalty is supposed to lie with the Clave, with the Institute, with the Shadowhunters here. Their loyalty is supposed to be with Alec instead of with a near-stranger who has shown herself more than willing to put the safety of everyone and everything else at risk as long as it gets her even the slightest bit closer to her own goals.

And all of it is only made more frustrating by the fact that if they deigned to actually listen to him, if they’d agree to do things Alec’s way, the official way – which might include a bit of delay due to having to go through the correct channels but would then mean getting the backing of the entire Clave, the sort of force even Valentine would think twice about messing with – it would get things done so much faster and more efficiently, with less risk to everyone involved and with far less messes for him to clean up afterwards.

Alas, Izzy and Jace are so very blinded by their little adventure that they don’t even seem to realize the rather wide-reaching consequences of their actions, too caught up in doing things their way and getting everything done now, no matter what it may mean in the long-term.

Then again, looking at the two of them now, cheerfully telling him about every single vision Clary got from the necklace, so clearly not seeing anything at all wrong with what they’ve been doing, Alec can’t help but think, maybe that bit about them not realizing the potentially catastrophic consequences of their actions might be partially his own fault. It’s not like he has ever let them carry the consequences of their own actions. No, Alec always made sure they wouldn’t have to.

However, for once, he simply refuses to let them continue in as they have. Because this time is different. This time they potentially put the entire Institute at risk, whether out of ignorance or lack of care Alec honestly doesn’t even want to consider right now, without having any sort of reason as far as Alec can tell. For once, he refuses to let them create yet another mess that he’ll then find himself cleaning up in their stead.

So, the moment he is told about the necklace, he takes it into his possession, takes it from Jace’s hand. For safekeeping. Since neither Clary nor Jace can apparently be trusted to put the lives of everyone at the Institute above their own little treasure hunt.

He doesn’t bother to explain himself even when Clary promptly starts protesting the moment she realizes Alec has no intention of giving it back. Alec honestly just can’t be bothered to afford her the attention she so clearly wants.

However, some of Alec’s uncompromising fury at what he has just been told must be showing through his forcefully impassive façade, because after a single glance at him, Izzy is quick to reach out and pull Clary back, eyes on Alec, something careful in her expression as she murmurs to Clary.

The girl huffs and Jace scowls and Izzy keeps watching Alec with that same careful look in her eyes. Like they are honestly surprised by his anger, like they have no idea what he could possibly be so furious about.

He clenches his teeth.

And something about his expression is apparently enough to give even Jace pause, a slight frown flitting over his parabatai’s face, something almost confused but also a little irritated, possibly impatient, in his expression.

But it is rather apparent that none of them actually see anything wrong with what he’s been doing.

Alec finally gives up trying to keep his face neutral, lets a dark scowl overtake his face as he finally focuses on Izzy and Jace, immovable and uncompromising, lets his presence overtake the room in a way he so rarely does but which immediately has every Shadowhunter in the general vicinity fall quiet, the entire ops center suddenly filled with a careful sort of silence, even those who are too far away to even hear what is going on with Alec and those he used to consider closest to himself.

He focuses on Izzy and Jace, sees the way the two of them have rather abruptly come to attention, something startled, honestly taken-aback, in their eyes as they watch Alec, finally realizing that this is more than him simply disagreeing with their methods, more than their usual attempted three-way balancing of pro-law and anti-Clave sentiments. Maybe they realize that, for once, they have pushed the boundaries of his leniency too far.

For their sakes, he certainly hopes so.

Alec watches them, eyes the slightest bit narrowed, the necklace that started this entire situation still in his hand but him taking it into his possession simply not something he will even discuss, a decision already made. If only because they clearly cannot be trusted not to put the entire Institute at risk if given half the chance.

“Let me be clear,” Alec starts, focused on Izzy and Jace, for all that he is fully aware that everyone else in the ops center is absolutely listening in, his voice darkly commanding. “The next time either of you puts the security of the entire Institute at risk with something like this, I’ll see to it that your next mission includes a post within Alicante’s walls. Of the permanent sort.”

He is directly addressing Izzy and Jace, lets them see just how incredibly short they are falling of his expectations, sees it hit Izzy especially, a surprised blink, then her hands curling into fists in a way he knows is far more about presenting a strong front than it is about any sort of anger or disagreement on her end. Jace just looks honestly stunned, like Alec’s anger is coming out of nowhere.

Still, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised when it’s neither Jace or Izzy who speaks up to protest but rather the mundane-come-nephilim girl who he couldn’t care less about promptly inserts herself.

“You can’t threaten me,” Clary hisses at him, clearly missing that Alec is neither talking to her nor could care less about anything she might have to say, that she has used up all of his goodwill afforded to her, goodwill she only got from him in the first place because with her upbringing she is basically a mundane, and thereby falls amongst those Alec swore to protect, and because his parabatai has put himself so clearly on her side, behind her cause. Beyond that, Alec couldn’t care less about her little games, playing at being a grown-up in a world she knows nothing about.

So, he doesn’t even bother to glance Clary’s way. Maybe it’s time the little girl comes to a couple realizations of her own. Like the fact that she is so far outside of what Alec considers important enough to take notice of, her protesting now, the way she apparently still sees herself and her needs at the center of everyone’s worlds, would be almost a little humorous. Well, it would be. If she wasn’t so good at dragging Alec’s family into her schemes.

But if she wants to use Jace as her knight in shining armor, the one she can bat her eyelashes at to get whatever she wants, then that’s how Alec is going to treat her. Namely, as a nonentity at best and an annoying attachment to his parabatai at worst.

No, this warning is for Izzy and Jace. And going by their shocked expressions they get it.

“You got me?” he demands darkly of the two people in this world he thought he could forever rely on and who are now turning out to be more of a security risk than everyone else in this Institute put together. Possibly with the exception of that traitor Alec knows must be hiding within their ranks.

And something of his honest anger at them must finally get through, because neither Jace nor Izzy protests, both of them watching Alec carefully, still clearly surprised at his vehemence but apparently unwilling to test his current patience with them.

Which is a good thing. Because, for once, Alec is honestly angry with them. Angry and exhausted and disappointed. Recently it seems like no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, or how often he gives in to other people’s demands, no matter how often he bends, how often he does exactly what is asked of him, torn between duties and demands, no matter how little of himself he still shows, it’s still not ever quite enough. It seems he is forever found wanting.

And as he finally turns away from the two people he thought he could trust most in this world, leaves them standing in the ops center, there is a small part of him, the part that is tired and frustrated and so incredibly disillusioned, that wonders… _If that’s the case_? If he is never good enough anyway? Well, then why the hell even try. Why not be himself.

And maybe even let on just how short _everyone else_ is falling of Alec’s expectations in turn.

Because, if he is entirely honest? It’s been quite some time since the world – and almost everyone in it – has lived up to what Alec might imagine it could be.

Well, with certain – surprising and rather notable – exceptions, of course.

+++

Magnus absently stirs the potion currently bubbling merrily away in front of him.

It’s just a small batch of a pain-relieving salve, something that’s good for sore muscles or bruises or even against growing pains. He is mainly brewing it for some of the few younger warlocks, living in his city and thereby – even if only indirectly – under his care.

Not that there are many child-warlocks in New York.

Young warlocks are rare, toddlers up to early-teens the rarest, if only due to how many of them tend to be left behind by their own families once their marks and their gifts make it more than apparent that there is something different about them. It happens far too often that their young ones slip through the cracks and are never found at all. And most of those who are found are then brought to the labyrinth to grow up under better conditions than this world can currently offer them.

Still, he currently has five warlocks under the age of fifteen living in New York, still growing into their bodies and into their magic. And he knows how incredibly uncomfortable the ladder can be, as their magic stretches, forming and molding and growing into what their adult versions will have available.

Admittedly, his thoughts aren’t entirely on the potion in front of him, his mind focused in large parts on something else entirely.

Namely, the lovely Shadowhunter who left late last night – or rather, in the very early morning – after several hours of sitting outside and talking, not to even mention some rather heated making-out interspersed with kisses so soft and gentle and unhurried it honestly made Magnus forget about everything else around him, made him forget about anything aside from Alexander and the closeness between them.

He pauses, eyes focused into the middle distance as he recalls their easy conversation, an almost scarily effortless sort of ease in their closeness, an obvious and inescapable pull, seeming to only draw them ever-closer the longer they stayed out on Magnus’ balcony, just the two of them.

There had been something about last night, something about the way Alexander had so freely left his duties and responsibilities and any demands put onto him by others behind, the way he had simply joined Magnus in shutting out the world and letting himself fall into that connection that has been so very instantaneous between them.

Which isn’t even touching upon the fact that Alexander had apparently never done something like that before, neither the heated making-out nor the soft and gentle kisses. Magnus can’t even recall the last time he was with someone honestly innocent where physical intimacy is concerned, much less _that_ innocent, entirely untouched.

And, most essentially, Alexander chose _him_ to have that experience with. Which is just… He can’t help but recall some particular images of last night, Alexander so close to him, breath heavy after just having pulled apart, flush on his face, lips reddened and slightly swollen, his pupils large. And entirely focused on Magnus. Heat shivers through Magnus’ veins.

It had been quite the night, despite the two of them keeping it at kissing and not really going beyond that.

 _Well, almost…_ Magnus tilts his head, feels his lips quirk upwards in a smug little grin. He might admittedly have left a mark or two on Alexander, right above the Shadowhunter’s collarbone, having pulled aside the collar of his shirt when one of their more heated kisses had ended with both of them panting slightly, catching their breath but neither of them willing to quite let go yet, Magnus getting so easily addicted to the rumbling sort of soft moans Alexander let out when he let his lips follow the line of his jaw, along that unfairly distracting neck rune, the way Alexander’s hands had tightened on his hips when Magnus set his teeth to skin, lips and pressure and teeth, leaving a mark, both of them getting lost in the intimacy between them.

 _Then again_ , Magnus thinks, the image of Alexander panting slightly, skin flushed and eyes heated, still fresh in his mind. _Who can blame me for not quite being able to help myself._

And as much as he’d love to have images of a naked Alexander spread out over his bed to add to those mental pictures, Magnus is still glad they hadn’t let it escalate that far. Because like this, the memory of the evening spent with the gorgeous nephilim on his balcony are pure comfort and ease, beautiful and almost breathtakingly soft in their simplicity. There is no stale aftertaste, no jilted but-you-left-before-I-woke-up, no if-only-we’d-done-it-differently to regret.

This way, Magnus can at least imagine that they have a chance of a repeat or possibly even to take it further at some point.

He knows the chances of anything coming of the two of them together are slim at best, no matter how instantaneous and inescapable that draw between them might have been. Still, Magnus has been around for a while and he is fully aware of Shadowhunter societal demands and their taboos, knows that anything except for plain vanilla heterosexuality exclusively between nephilim is utterly unacceptable in the Clave’s eyes.

Then again, who is to say that Magnus can’t still hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... This worked out exactly as I had planned. All the plot points, all the characterizations, everything just as I had intended... Yeah, right XD This plunny has taken on a life of its own and while the general outline I had in mind definitely remains, Malec is kind of just doing whatever they want at this point. The scene with Clary will definitely still happen and there is a good chance that I'll turn this into its own fic, because I am currently rather obsessed with the idea of Alec not taking anyone's bs from this point forward :D
> 
> Would love to know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, from here on onwards, everything is new :)

Alec remains perfectly still, posture straight-backed, hands folded at his back, face impassive.

The posture of a soldier, the posture he has been taught since he was eight and first started his training under his parents’ tutelage to become the best Shadowhunter he could possibly be, for the Clave, for their family, for the Lightwood name, for everybody’s sake but his own.

In front of him, his mother is throwing about orders and demands, making no secret of her disappointment, her general disapproval almost tangible in the air of the ops center.

His mother who apparently decided to return from Idris after having been gone for months suddenly having shown up just minutes ago, not even deigning to inform Alec – who she had left in charge in her absence – of her planned return ahead of time. Like he, after months of doing the job his parents are supposed to do together, doesn’t even deserve the plain respect of being kept in the loop when they decide to once more take over.

He remains still, outwardly impassive, everything about him utterly unmoving. So as to not give away the anger coursing through him, an anger that hasn’t really let go of him ever since the situation this morning with Izzy and Jace and the damn necklace that might have compromised the security of the entire Institute, now only fed by the obvious disregard shown to him by his mother.

The other Shadowhunters milling about the ops center a little ways away from where the five of them – Alec, his mother, and the trio of Izzy, Jace, and Clary – are currently standing, keep their distance, though some of them are definitely close enough to at least some of what is being said, some of them frowning, but all of them watchful as his mother makes her opinions known.

Alec listens, keeping silent as his mother continues to make her disapproval more than clear. Without ever actually asking for explanations.

 _Not like that is anything new_ , Alec can’t help but think, a mixture of sardonic amusement and bitter frustration curling through him. Not like his parents ever give him the benefit of the doubt, ever assume his decisions were the best possible line of actions he could have taken, never once believing in his competence.

Well, unless it’s to take on their job of running the Institute in their absence whenever it suits them, as they spend weeks, sometimes months, at a time in Idris, indulging themselves in their political games in Alicante, not really bothering to so much as check in beyond the weekly reports Alec sends them.. They always seem to think him perfectly capable whenever it’s about Alec taking on their responsibilities, forever more duties for him to fulfill, more demands to bow to. But, oh, are they ever so quick in voicing their disappointment whenever they finally return, never quite satisfied with his way of fulfilling their jobs on top of his own.

And, as usual, now that his mother has returned, acting like she has kept perfectly up-to-date with everything that’s been happening at the Institute, like she knows everything they know, every single little detail they based their decisions on. Despite Alec being absolutely aware of just how far from the truth that really is.

It’s not even that Alec thinks he’s been making the best decisions he could have these past couple of days – this morning’s confrontation with Izzy and Jace after they had freely put the security of the Institute at risk rather clearly proving otherwise – but, damn it all, after almost three-and-a-half months of running the Institute entirely by himself because his parents decided they had better things to do, he deserves to at least be asked for the reasoning behind his decisions before his mother starts voicing her apparent disappointment in everything he does and everything he is.

There is just something about this – his mother storming in and immediately throwing around orders, in combination with everything that’s been happening and, most specifically, the situation from this morning around the necklace that Alec still feels like a weight in his pocket, not yet having had the time to put it away – that has his earlier anger and frustration and utter disillusionment with everyone he is close to, everyone he is supposed to be able to rely on, boil up inside him once more.

The fact that his mother is here, clearly having heard about the recent happenings at the Institute she is supposed to lead but never seems to have the time for, and so clearly doesn’t deign to consider that she could ask Alec – or Izzy or Jace or, hell, one of the other Shadowhunters at the Institute – for their take on everything that has happened, for a report from someone who had been there, only has his irritation with his family as a whole mounting. It’s yet another thing where he does everything he can, yet another situation where he does everything demanded of him and more, gives all he has, without any support from those around him, only for those same people to then turn around and judge him for his failures, for them to dare to find him wanting.

He clenches his teeth, the first outward sign of just how utterly furious he is at this entire situation, eyes still on his mother but so very done with all of this. Though maybe his anger is showing a little more obviously than he thought, considering that he can see the other Shadowhunters in the ops center watching him warily over his mother’s shoulder, absently notes the way Izzy has instinctually tilted her body the slightest bit away from him, not like she is trying to get away but in a way she would react on mission when her instincts tell her there is danger to look out for, positioning herself to better protect Alec’s blind spots, all the while Jace reacts just as subconsciously to their sudden positioning, the slightest step forward to bring himself fully into Alec’s view, covering each other’s weak spots, the way they would in the middle of a fight.

It’s instinctual, a long-trained habit from too-many-missions-to-keep-count, from training together since before they were ever allowed to fight demons. He isn’t even certain whether Izzy and Jace even realized that they took on a battle formation, reacting to Alec’s shifting mood, his sharpened focus on their mother, the way they would while facing off against a real threat.

Sure, the adjustments are slight, likely unnoticed by everyone else. But Alec, as the one who trained the two of them into this particular formation, notices all the same.

It’s also strangely reassuring, considering that the two of them are at least half the source of his current anger.

But he already had his conflict with them earlier, and now he is focused on something else. Namely, his mother.

He clenches his teeth, spares half a thought to the fact that he has been breaking with quite a few habits of his own just in the past twenty-four hours – you know, like staying at Magnus’ for reasons that had nothing to do with his Shadowhunter duties, or like truly taking Izzy and Jace to task despite not having done so in about a decade no matter how badly they have screwed up… So, why not add this particular situation to the list?

Usually, he’d never even consider contradicting his mother, much less an order she has already given. But there is just something about this, about her storming in here and not even taking the time to greet them before she is already bandying about criticisms and commands.

And a part himself can’t help but helplessly wonder, just why the only time he got to feel like himself was while he had been at the loft of their resident High Warlock, a place where Alec absolutely should have been on high alert but somehow felt nothing but utter safety, like for once the world couldn’t possibly touch him. Why did he only get to feel like being himself is good enough, is everything he should be, like everything he is, everything he wants isn’t being buried beneath other people’s demands and expectations, like he isn’t found wanting no matter what he does. Like pretending to be anything but exactly who he is would be _less_ , not more.

_Why is it that the only time I got to be myself is while I was with Magnus, the one person in this city I shouldn’t want to be with?_

Yes, his anger from earlier is definitely back. With a vengeance.

So, Alec just remains where he is, posture straight-backed and alert as he listens, as he waits until his mother has finished giving her orders. And then, when she is done, for the first time since he started taking on the role of interim Institute leader whenever his parents decide to skip off to Idris, he calmly but decisively contradicts her.

“Raj is going to train Clary,” he asserts, voice steady but decisive.

There is a pause, dead silence spreading throughout the room, as everyone stares at him, more than a little stunned by his unexpected contradiction.

Then, “Alec,” his mother starts warningly, voice that same demanding command as always, a dark frown already on her face, her expression one of pure disapproval and harsh reprimand.

_Like that is anything new._

He pushes aside his instinctual need to do anything in his power to please his mother, to do exactly as she demands, as he usually would. But today isn’t a usual day and he is simply at the end of his tether. So, he remains unmoved. “The training schedules and patrol shifts for today have already been assigned. Raj is free to train Clary.”

If he is being honest, his parents’ appearance is just about the last thing he needed to add to all the other complications already keeping him so ridiculously busy these past couple of days. Too much has been happening, too much is shifting, the ground underneath his feet not quite steady any longer. His mother’s demand will, for once, just have to take a backseat to all the other far more pressing issues he currently has on his plate.

Things that are certainly far more important than showing a self-important little girl how to swing a wooden sword or how to fight with a bo staff or even just land someone on their ass. Someone else can deal with Clary muddling through her first fighting lessons.

Because it’s not just Alec’s anger or his frustration that has him contradict his mother.

For one, he knows that this particular assignment – an assignment that is little more than a waste of time for him, who already has his plate so full he can barely manage on the rare good days – is his mother’s way of specifically punishing Alec, giving him a task she knows he has no interest in doing and that he is actually needed for. Showing someone the very basics of fighting with different weapons can be done by any trained Shadowhunter at the Institute. Hell, even his little brother Max would be able to teach Clary the basics.

So, Alec is fully aware that his mother assigning this particular job to him is as much about punishing him for his supposed recent failures as it is about re-asserting her own standing as the actual Institute leader. Like that needs reaffirming. It’s also par for the course, something his parents always tend to do whenever they return after weeks of absence. And usually he simply takes, fulfills whatever menial job they give him in their weird need to remind everyone here who the official Heads of the Institute are.

But not today. She can always give him a bullshit job to fulfill tomorrow, or next week or something, once he has managed to deal with the far more pressing catastrophes still looming just around the corner. Catastrophes that currently rank far higher on his list of priorities than his parents’ so fragile sensibilities.

There is a reason why the Shadowhunters at the Institute tend to wait for his parents to take off to Alicante once more – which they rather reliably do within weeks of checking in – before they come to him with some of their more particular problems. It’s not even because Alec is particularly sympathetic to anyone’s whining about something or other, or because everyone here particularly likes him, or even because they necessarily think he is doing a particularly good job. But Alec is _there_.

His parents simply don’t tend to stick around long enough at the Institute to actually deal with any of the more time-consuming problems anyway, in direct contrast to him.

But the point is that nothing about this entire situation with his mother reappearing and promptly throwing around orders is in any way surprising. The difference is just that this time? Alec won’t let her.

This time, his mother doesn’t get to simply appear after spending months in Idris while leaving him to run the entire Institute by himself and then act like she has any idea of what is going on at the Institute she and his dad are supposed to run but never seem to have the time for.

If only because he has far more pressing things to do, things to figure out, things so much more important than teaching a little girl how to fight or dealing with his mother’s sensibilities.

There is the question of the traitor, Valentine’s spy, hiding somewhere amongst their ranks but who Alec can’t quite figure out how to flush from his cowardly hiding place, something he knows he’ll need outside help for, especially now that Izzy and Jace are so busy doing anything but actually trying to help Alec. Then there is the political mess that comes with their invasion of Hotel Dumort while they had been trying to save that one mundane, peace to be made with one of their city’s strongest vampire clans once more, lest New York’s Downworld as a whole decides to take this as a sign of direct aggression against them and who knows how badly that sort of shifting balance might turn out for everyone involved. Then there is the problem of the necklace that Jace saw fit to mess around with and that Alec now has to figure out, if only to get an idea of how much information Valentine might have gleaned due to his siblings’ idiocy.

And so what if the first person Alec thought of while trying to think of someone to help him figure out exactly what this necklace can do was Magnus. It makes sense to ask a warlock when trying to figure out a magical artifact. So, there.

Which also brings him to some of the pressing more personal things Alec has to figure out. Like the question of his Izzy and Jace’s shifting loyalty, no longer as immutably reliable in his mind as they were just mere weeks ago. Or like the fact that Alec himself seems to be going through a sort of personal crisis at the moment, something between a crisis of faith and a personality crisis, trying to balance what he wants with what he knows he can have, and whether that balance is even worth the effort he has been putting into upholding it for years now.

So, he simply doesn’t have the patience for his mother’s power games. If she wants him to waste his time training a silly, manipulative little girl, then she is going to have to order him to do so, will have to make him stand down with the authority she does admittedly have. He won’t simply concede. Not today and not without being ordered to.

Then again, he knows she won’t do anything of the sort. Not here and not right now, not in full view and hearing distance of a rather large number of Shadowhunters milling about the ops center just a few steps away from them, watching their group.

Because an open conflict like that between Alec and her would mean a certain loss of face for their family, would ruin the united front she likes to present to everyone else, never mind that it would also put every single order Alec has given in his parents’ absence into question, and thereby also devaluate his parents’ own choice of leaving him in the role of the interim Head of the Institute.

Image is everything to his mother. Well, she might also decide that letting Alec openly contradict her would be even more damaging.

Still, he sticks by his decision to contradict her and simply reiterates. “Raj is going to train Clary. Jace and Izzy have patrol duty this morning. I will be talking to the seelies.”

There is another pause, the look in his mother’s eyes darkening at him daring to confirm his disagreement with her orders. But, before she can ever make the choice to either concede and pretend that this redistribution of assignments is perfectly alright with her or order him to back down, the decision is already made for her.

Because, beside Alec, Izzy, after a mere second of hesitation, nods decisively, her shoulders rolling backwards, mind made up and ready for a confrontation.

“I’ll let Raj know,” she asserts calmly, like she isn’t agreeing to something their mother rather clearly doesn’t want, like she isn’t choosing sides. The look in her eyes gives her away, shows just how absolutely she understands what she is doing, but then she is already turning fluidly and striding off towards the ops center, not giving their mother a chance to forbid her from doing so, if she doesn’t want to yell across the room.

As she passes him, Izzy doesn’t bother to look at Alec, instead throws a single glance Jace’s way, a clear demand to follow or be left behind.

Jace, who blinks once, glances between Alec and his mother, and then, firming his jaw, turns to smoothly fall into step with Izzy, shoulders set and his steps certain, his hands loose at his sides, determinedly keeping them from curling into fists as Alec knows he wants to, one of his parabatai’s tells whenever he is feeling anxious.

Something in Alec’s shoulders loosens at their agreement to his orders, at them choosing his side at least in this. Though he lets none of his relief show outwardly, pretends that Izzy and Jace’s agreement with him was always a given, the obvious choice.

Instead, he turns his focus back on his mother. “The schedules are in the office,” Alec continues calmly, sees the anger in his mother’s eyes at having her orders ignored.

Alec doesn’t acknowledge it. For once, he will not let himself be ordered about, will not let himself be scolded like a little child playing at being a grown-up. Not after months of running the Institute by himself, doing a job meant for two people on his own, while his parents were off in Idris doing who knows what. For once, he demands more respect than that. “We can talk through the schedules and missions reports once I get back from talking to the seelies.”

He watches his mother clench her teeth.

He is relieved but also not all that surprised when she still doesn’t argue despite her obvious anger, won’t create a scene in the middle of the ops center. Not now that Izzy and Jace have already left, have already chosen sides. Disagreeing now would be a loss of face for her, admitting that she doesn’t agree with any of the orders that Alec has given and – most importantly – that her own children still went through with it anyway.

Sure, he knows he is in for a truly uncomfortable conversation later on, but it’s her own fault that she confronted them here with so many other Shadowhunters milling about, too used to everyone following her orders without ever daring to question her, not having considered Alec might dare to object.

Because image is everything to his mother, their family’s reputation to be put above all else. Even above the happiness of anyone with the last name Lightwood.

Alec thinks that last bit? It’s one of his mother’s worst failings.

+++

Alec steps out of the Institute, immediately activates his rune to leave the building with his mother behind as quickly as he possibly can. Lest she follow him outside to have their argument right away after all.

And also, because he really doesn’t want her to figure out that Alec isn’t actually planning to visit any of the faerie representatives in New York right now.

The idea of the seelie scouts going missing because they are working with Valentine is so utterly ludicrous that he doesn’t see a reason to ask any faerie about that anyway. Sure, he’ll seek one of them out later on, if only because his mother will expect a report.

But the entire seelie situation isn’t really all that high on his list of priorities at the moment.

First, he needs to deal with the necklace and figure out just how badly his parabatai might have managed to compromise the security of the Institute. And second, he needs someone to give him some background on Clary in general, needs to figure out whether anything about what she’s been doing has been intentional or whether the rather catastrophic consequences truly are just a coincidence.

He needs to know whether she might be here for anything other than what she is claiming.

As much as Jace refuses to admit it, but there is a realistic chance that the little girl’s sudden appearance isn’t anywhere near as coincidental as it’s supposed to seem, either by her own machinations or someone else’s.

Too much has happened, too much has gone wrong ever since that little girl oh-so-randomly wandered into their lives. First the coincidence of her being at the club where Alec, Jace, and Izzy had been going after that blood-trafficking demon ring. And okay, he can believe that to actually have been a coincidence. Because sometimes weird things just happen.

But then, there was the whole her-mother-being-kidnapped-right-after-turning-Jace’s-head, suddenly making her all helpless and sad and exactly the sort of damsel-in-distress his parabatai is so incredibly weak to. Which, again, Alec might still be willing to believe to be another coincidence, though it already smacks of manipulation and too-convenient timing in his opinion.

Then, the revelation about Clary being Valentine’s daughter, when Alec hadn’t even known that the most wanted criminal in the Shadowworld had a child at all, much less that she’d be the exact right age to fit right in with him and his siblings. Yeah, his belief in coincidence pretty ended after that particular revelation.

Then, there had been that whole mess with the vampires, a wonderful way to drive yet another wedge between one of the more powerful clans in New York and the Institute, using his parabatai’s fascination with this girl as the tool to get the rest of them involved as well. Which… yeah, there is no way the vampires just randomly knew to show up at the cemetery at the exact right time and abducted the mundane that had coincidentally been brought into their group mere hours ago. If he were to guess, he’d say they can thank that mole at the Institute for passing on that bit of information and just how easily Alec would be led into attacking one of the more powerful Downworlder factions in the city if only to protect the one purely mundane amongst them.

However, all of the above has nothing on the meeting at the rave, where they unknowingly lured the High Warlock away from where he had clearly been protecting his own people, only for Valentine to time it exactly right and attack the warlocks’ hideout the very instance that impenetrable protection was gone? Yeah, no. There is simply no way that’s a coincidence. Alec knows they were lucky that nothing happened, that the Circle never managed to take down the wards despite Magnus’ absence. Or everything about yesterday’s events could have gone so much worse.

And now? Suddenly, Clary also reveals her possession of a necklace, a magical artifact supposedly given to her by her mother, which coincidentally lets Valentine contact her directly, conveniently feeding her information as he pleases?

Alec almost wants to snort.

_Yeah, sure. Let’s just go with Jace and Izzy’s take on all of this simply being coincidence. Right._

No, they are definitely being played from the outside and from within the Institute. Of that much he is certain. The only question that remains is whether Clary is knowingly involved or whether she is just the tool that has them all dancing to Valentine’s tune.

Well, if he is entirely honest, Alec in no way thinks that Clary herself would ever be able to mastermind this sort of thing, too many intricate layers of deception, inextricably interwoven plans, people and unshakable loyalties being made use of like pieces on a chess board. Yeah, there is no way Clary would be able to plan this sort of thing, her utter floundering at a world she knows nothing about far too convincing for Alec to think it’s a ploy. She’d give herself away within mere minutes.

But.

He can absolutely believe that she is having her strings pulled by someone behind the scenes, having her dance to someone else’s tune and Alec’s family with it. Her utter lack of critical thinking and self-reflection certainly means it’s possible she wouldn’t even know if there were someone pulling her strings, just self-righteously storming ahead, convinced that anything she chooses to do is the only way, the right way of doing things.

Yeah. _That_ Alec absolutely believes possible.

He kind of hopes that’s what’s going on.

Because, the other possibility is that she, while not the mastermind orchestrating everything, might still be playing willingly along with someone else’s plans. Who is to say she hasn’t already struck a deal with Valentine in exchange for her mother’s safety. She has certainly shown herself utterly unconcerned with anyone else’s safety or even their lives, as long as it gets her closer to her goals. Who is to say Valentine didn’t offer Clary her mother’s safety, in return for turning the entire Institute into his puppets, unknowingly being tugged along by strings they cannot see.

And maybe Alec isn’t being entirely fair to her, maybe he is making her out much worse than she actually is. Then again, she certainly hasn’t given him any reason to give her the benefit of the doubt. More than that. Alec gave her all of that and more, gave her several chances and help and access and his own support in whatever way he could give it. And all she did was promptly trample all over it and in the aftermath complain about things not working out her way.

Alec is quite simply out of chances to give one Clary Fray and he has absolutely no interest in changing that.

No, instead, he wants to know as much about what’s going on as he possibly can, wants all the information he can get to plan his own path around the manipulations he has so clearly fallen for in the past couple of days. And in order to do that, he needs to know more than just one side of the equation, needs to know about all sides, needs to know whatever there is to be found on Valentine’s long-term plans, needs to know about Clary Fray, about Jocelyn Fairchild, about the Downworld factions, about anything and anyone playing a role in the messes that have so recently started to pile up, just in the past few weeks suddenly so many things gaining speed, breaking the usual monotony of hunting demons in the worst way, leaving Alec with too many messes to fix and too little information to prevent any of it from happening.

What Alec needs is an outsider’s point of view.

He already knows the Clave’s side, knows the main players in Idris, knows the Institute inside and out, knows everything he can learn from their records about New York’s Downworld. But he is lacking the other side of it.

Thankfully, while even just yesterday he would have struggled to think of someone to ask all of his questions, much less someone whose answer’s he would then also be willing to trust even vaguely, suddenly Alec does have one place where he can go, has someone he can ask his questions and who he – ridiculously enough – is willing to trust not to lead Alec into some sort of trap with his answers. Someone who has just as much skin in the game as Alec but isn’t beholden to the Clave like he himself is, but who has so much more experience to draw from, knows the people involved, the many political interest, the different races without the bias that Alec’s own upbringing – as he is willing to freely admit – inevitably brings with it.

Most importantly, Alec finally has someone who he knows with absolute certainty will never so much as consider betraying anyone to the Circle, someone who is likely to sooner kill Valentine on the spot if he were to ever come across the man.

Apparently, Valentine has a very good reason for his tendency to stay out of Brooklyn.

Not that Alec had been aware of that particular pattern until so very recently.

And so what if Alec maybe spent a good part of last night researching Magnus Bane, several-centuries-old, incredibly powerful and well-connected, uncompromising-in-the-defense-of-his-own-people High Warlock of Brooklyn. He had been unable to sleep anyway, mind circling around the events of that night. So, why not read up on the topic that had him utterly incapable of falling asleep.

The Clave’s files on Magnus Bane had actually been rather interesting. Especially, the rather clear if unwritten ‘do not mess with’ order from the Clave that had been included in said file, right there on the first page, something Hodge definitely forgot to mention when he presented Magnus Bane as the most likely warlock to be able to help Clary.

Magnus Bane, who coincidentally seems to have quite the decades-long history with the Circle, of the ripping-any-Circle-members-he-comes-across-to-pieces-whenever-given-half-the-chance kind.

Alec approves.

The point is, he definitely has someone who fits the bill of someone he can ask for an outsider’s perspective on some of the things that have been going so very awry recently and the various characters that have suddenly inserted themselves into the previously so orderly running of his Institute.

He feels the weight of Clary’s amulet in his pocket, thinks of the many questions that are whirling through his mind, not least of which are a few questions that are far more about himself or about Magnus or about _both of them_ than they are about the current situation of the Shadowworld.

But, well, when Alec left the warlock’s loft early this morning, something warm and so unfamiliarly giddy curling in his chest when Magnus had pressed another soft kiss to his lips in goodbye, the warlock had told Alec to feel free to give him a call sometime or to maybe stop by again whenever he has the time.

Alec frowns slightly, slows his steps. Maybe he should still call ahead. Just to make sure he’ll really be welcome and that he won’t interrupt Magnus in his usual day-to-day. He only has to imagine just how less-than-enthused he himself would be if Magnus chose to simply appear during one of his missions because the warlock wanted to talk.

Yes, Magnus made it more than clear that Alec would always be welcome back in case he wanted to stop by again, so there really isn’t any reason for Alec not to do just that. And it’s all the better that he also has several excuses lined up for specifically wanting to seek Magnus out again, independent of what they spent most of last night doing.

Still, a call ahead certainly wouldn’t go amiss.

Alec reaches for his phone, dials the number he so recently saved into it, really hoping that Magnus isn’t busy right now.

Because, well, the rather pressing issues Alec currently has on his mind aside, he’d also rather like to talk to Magnus again at all. And if that thing between them, the thing that had them so very lost in each other’s presence for hours last night, maybe comes up again in conversation or even in… _other_ ways, well, Alec certainly wouldn’t mind either.

So, there.

+++

Magnus doesn’t expect Alexander to call him less than twelve hours after they saw each other last.

Sure, the Shadowhunter is very straightforward about wanting to ask Magnus for his help with something. But Magnus is still perfectly happy to take this chance of spending another bit of time together. Especially since he honestly thought he might not get to see Alexander again at all, something about the way the Shadowhunter had said goodbye in the early morning hours seeming like he wasn’t at all sure whether he was intending to ever appear in Magnus’ life again.

And there is something about the way Alexander asks whether it would be okay if he came by the loft that’s just… It should be something simple, someone calling ahead to ask if they can stop by, but it’s surprisingly nice for someone to actually consider whether they might inconveniencing Magnus with their demands for his help.

Because, let him tell you, that’s certainly not the norm.

Usually, people just show up at his home to demand his time and even tend to get rather angry if he dares to not immediately jump to do their bidding, dares to have a previous engagement or possibly isn’t able to just magic their various problems away with a mere twirl of his fingers, or dares to demand a different payment than whoever is commissioning his help might have decided to be adequate compensation.

Sure, his warlocks know better, tend to make appointments before they seek him out unless it’s an emergency, in which case Magnus will always be willing to instantly help, his own time or potential loss of payment utterly irrelevant in comparison.

But Shadowhunters in particular have a certain way of just assuming that any Downworlder’s time is theirs to command, theirs to take up as they please, any Downworlder’s resources and powers theirs to make use of at will. The entitlement of nephilim has always been bad but it seems to be only getting worse with each passing decade.

 _Except for this one, apparently_ , Magnus thinks to himself with a slight smile. _A definite exception from the rules in all the best ways_.

Something honestly pleased and happily delighted curls through him at the thought that Alexander – this gorgeous, oh-so-lovely nephilim Magnus came across so very unexpectedly – might not be intending to stay away from him as Magnus had admittedly kind of excepted the Shadowhunter might be planning.

Then, his wards are already announcing the nephilim’s arrival, warmth curling along Magnus’ senses.

He feels the corners of his lips tilting upwards, even as he, with a quick look in the mirror and a fluid twirl of his fingers to perfect his outfit, makes his way towards the entrance to better greet Alexander.

He is so looking forward to a hopefully just-as-lovely bit of time spent with his beautiful Shadowhunter, who might have only left his apartment a few hours ago but who Magnus hasn’t been able to get out of his head ever since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it became its own fic after all. This particular plunny has been occupying my mind to an almost ludicrious degree, to the point where I for once know exactly where I intend to take the plot, instead of just aimlessly writing and seeing where the characters will take me as I usually tend to write XD 
> 
> And as promised, this Alec is done with dealing with other people's bs, same for Magnus who isn't going to be anywhere near as self-sacrificingly kind to near-strangers as he was in canon. Actually, I'm kind of planning to write the contrast of their characterizations for private-vs-professional a little more extreme than I usually do, as in they'll be far more uncompromising and bamf-y while dealing with anyone else and absolute marshmallows while it's just the two of them. For no other reason than because I really like the idea of the two of them just not accepting anyone walking all over them, neither for themselves nor for the man they love. So, there.
> 
> Would love to know what you think :D


	4. Chapter 4

Alec takes the steaming mug of tea Magnus hands him, can’t help but let his lips quirk up slightly in reaction to the perfectly bright smile the warlock directs at him as he does so.

He definitely ignores the way his own fingers almost want to twitch forward, want to brush over the skin of the warlock’s hand as he takes the mug, a reaction from himself which he honestly doesn’t know what to do with.

It’s… odd, for lack of a better word. This strange familiarity, like it would be perfectly alright to touch Magnus, the feeling like Alec almost has the _right_ to, as much as he knows he doesn’t. Like last night – their closeness and honesty, the soft intimacy of just sitting together for no other reason than because they wanted to, the conversation and the kissing and not even pretending to be keeping their distance from each other – removed sort of barrier between them. A barrier which Alec clearly still has up with everyone else, going by how he reacted to everyone at the Institute this morning, a barrier forever keeping everyone at a distance. But which seems to have disappeared where Magnus is concerned.

Still, he makes himself carefully take the mug from Magnus without letting their fingers brush, refuses to let himself regret that decision when Magnus’ fingers withdraw, instead settles back into his seat on one of the couches in the loft, watches as Magnus settles on the couch right beside him, his own mug of what appears to be tea – instead of some fancy concoction – in his hands, the warlock apparently having decided to join him in having tea when Alec refused the offer of something a little stronger to drink earlier.

When Alec got here about half an hour ago, he was promptly greeted by Magnus’ rather delighted smile, a sweeping gesture welcoming him inside, and a cheerful offer of drinks.

And all of it so perfectly natural, easy, comfortable. _Genuine_. Because Magnus rather clearly likes having Alec here.

He refuses to let himself consider just how easily, how almost naturally, he slipped back into the same sort of relaxed surety as last night, the certainty in himself, the comfort of knowing that being entirely himself is all that Magnus wants from him, seemed rather cheerfully delighted last night the longer they spent together and the more Alec found himself unwinding, relaxing, letting more and more of himself show.

Also, yes, Alec knows just how depressing it is that he finds that little fact so very notable.

And now, having Magnus sitting rather close to him, even if not quite in his personal space yet but definitely closer than Alec would usually feel with most people, close enough for their knees to brush from time to time when one of them shifts, for Alec to imagine that he can just barely feel Magnus’ warmth radiating off him, the proximity just enough for something rather… flustered but also strangely excited to have made its home somewhere in Alec’s ribcage, something that has him utterly focused on Magnus, unable to look away or focus on anything else at all for so much as a second.

To his relief, it’s also not at all awkward. He had admittedly kind of expected for things between them to be at least a little stilted, if only because it’s been mere hours since he left after a rather… intimate evening and having now returned to talk about Clave-Downworld politics or the potentially devastating effects one little girl might have on the oh-so-precarious balance in their world. However, to his own surprise, he still feels rather perfectly comfortable being here, just as he did last night, in spite of his definite awareness that they are currently sitting barely a few steps away from where they were sitting outside last night, with the view of their city spreading out in front of them, talking and laughing and kissing, focused on each other like the rest of the world didn’t even exist.

So, yes, Alec is fairly certain that this should definitely feel at least a little strange. But all he feels is a nervous sort of exhilaration at once more being here, at Magnus’ apartment, just the two of them, the warlock’s focus once more entirely on Alec. If anything, he rather likes it. And Alec definitely doesn’t quite know what to do with that revelation.

Maybe the lack of awkwardness is because Magnus hasn’t actually said anything about last night, hasn’t so much as alluded to it beyond mentioning his delight about Alec deciding to return to the loft so soon, but at the same time he also doesn’t seem to be pretending that none of it ever happened either. The smile he gives Alec even now is completely different from the broad, bright, sparkling smiles Magnus had been throwing around when the others had still been around during the summoning yesterday. It’s so much warmer, more familiar, genuine in a way that is almost a little breathtaking, tilting into something a little intimate in a way that Alec absolutely recognizes from later last night, after they had already spent a few hours together, when Magnus had been leaning halfway against his chest, the two of them talking in-between two rather hot make-out sessions, laughing softly at something Alec had just said.

Alec thinks that particular smile is likely one of the reasons why he hasn’t been able to get Magnus out of his head for so much as a single moment even after he left.

The point is that Magnus is neither making a big deal out of yesterday, nor is he pretending nothing ever happened between them either. It’s more like he doesn’t seem to feel the need to point something out that both of them are more than aware of, like he is perfectly alright with giving Alec a little more space than he admittedly even wanted yesterday.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe this right here doesn’t feel awkward at all, because neither of them thinks there is anything to feel in any way awkward about.

_Huh._

“How has your day been so far, Alexander?” the warlock then asks, smile warm and openly interested in a way that is… Well, it’s _nice_ , is what it is. Having someone so clearly happy to have him around and even interested in his day. And, yes, Alec is perfectly aware just how… sad it is that he finds having someone asking about his day so very notable at all.

He shrugs in reply to the question but doesn’t actually say anything, not sure whether unloading all of his frustrations about today and his various family members being seemingly determined to erode away at the last of his patience at Magnus’ feet, someone he’s effectively known for less than twenty-four hours, as much as it feels like more, like they do know each other so far beyond that, like he could simply rant at Magnus about his siblings and his parents and Magnus would just listen, for no other reason than because it’s what Alec wants to talk about… And, damnit all, but how come everyone around Alec – his parents and his siblings and even the entire damn Clave – seems to have forgotten that the world does not in fact even remotely revolve around them, their personal interests, or their sensibilities.

Though, once more proving just how startlingly easy Magnus is able to read him, the warlock promptly tilts his head. “Ah,” he nods as though Alec said anything at all, something between commiserating humor and sympathetic understanding lighting his eyes. “ _That_ well.”

Alec lets the corner of his lips quirk up at the easy understanding.

Angel, Alec really needs to stop adding to the list of all the things he finds notable, reassuring, relaxing, _utterly breathtaking_ about Magnus. If anything, that list truly is already more than long enough.

Magnus’ eyes only seem to warm further as he watches Alec’s reaction. “Anything I can do to help?” he then asks, offering his help so casually when he really shouldn’t have any reason to want to help Alec at all.

 _But, well, that’s the entire point, isn’t it_ , he thinks to himself, something between exhaustion and resigned exasperation making him want to sigh. Because between everyone else in his life and the supposedly dastardly warlock he met just yesterday, somehow Magnus is the one who seems determined to help him, for no other reason than just because he can. To a point where Alec himself doesn’t even care to doubt him at all.

Magnus is just watching him, clearly waiting for Alec to tell him what exactly it is he wanted to ask his help for.

Yet something else that’s rather… nice. The fact that Magnus seems perfectly willing to wait him out, to get to the point of his reason for coming here, without showing any sort of impatience or even like he intends to hurry Alec along at all. Like he has all the time in the world for Alec.

_Well, that’s likely the reason why I’ve never felt quite as absolutely welcome anywhere as I do right now, in a place that by all means should feel anything **but** comfortable._

Still, he did admittedly come here for a reason beyond the way his mind keeps circling around the warlock whether in his presence or even outside of it. So, Alec sighs internally and instead of trying to keep the easy atmosphere between them alive – as he admittedly very much wants to – he reaches into his pocket to pull out the necklace that he took off Clary and the use of which he still wants to smack his parabatai for.

Their knees brush as he does so, the contact sending a jolt of suffusing warmth spreading along Alec’s skin, especially when he glances up to see Magnus watching right back, still sitting close, eyes warm and intent and so damn interested in Alec.

At least to himself Alec is willing to admit that he rather likes having Magnus there, right beside him. Instead of anywhere else.

Magnus only glances away when Alec finally holds out the necklace to him, and he is entirely helpless against the soft exhilaration running through him at once again having the warlock’s entire attention focused on himself, as much as he still doesn’t entirely know what to do with that.

Although, as soon as he focuses on the necklace, a slight frown is starting to furrow Magnus’ brow, eyeing the piece of jewelry, however only reaches out to touch it after Alec rather obviously holds it out to him.

“Clary apparently got it from her mother,” he provides as he watches Magnus’ fingers run softly along the silver chain. “However, it turns out that Valentine himself is apparently able to contact her through the necklace in some manner, sending her some sort of visions that are clearly intended for Clary to see.”

At that, Magnus glances up sharply, something so instantly alert in his gaze at that last bit of information it’s almost a little startling. Then again, it’s also somewhat reassuring to see just how similar Magnus’ reaction to the necklace’s apparent properties is to Alec’s own. You know, in direct contrast to his everyone else’s.

So, he adds, “I wanted to ask whether you could tell me what exactly this thing can do, whether it has any more uses.” He doesn’t mention his parabatai’s rather idiotic decision to make use of a magical necklace he knew nothing about repeatedly, or about his worry just what sort of access Jace might have inadvertently granted Valentine in return.

There is something in Magnus’ eyes as he watches Alec for another few seconds, something strangely surprised – but in a good way – in them, fingers having stilled over the necklace for a couple of moments, gaze warm but also intent in a way it hasn’t been so far as he holds his gaze, like he is seeing something about Alec he hadn’t before. Something that he clearly rather likes.

He ignores the thought that some of Magnus’ reaction is rather likely due to the fact that Alec’s first thought upon discovering something that might pose a risk to the Institute was to come here and ask him for help, the inherent trust for Magnus it shows. Despite the fact that there is no actual reason for that trust. Not beyond something within Alec seemingly having decided to simply trust Magnus. Rather unequivocally.

_Yeah, not thinking about that right now._

And then he gets to watch Magnus use his magic once more. It’s different from last night during the demon summoning, where Magnus’ magic had filled the entire room, solely about containment and keeping a powerful demon leashed despite its obvious attempts to break free. This right here is far more… gentle, more finesse in the way wisps of blue light dance along the warlock’s fingers as he runs them over the necklace, linger over the stone, slowly tracing the silver chain.

It’s still just as captivating. The elegant twirls of his fingers, the ease with which he manipulates the fluid curls of his magic, the absolute control. Well, captivating doesn’t seem to cover it, more like enthralling, mesmerizing, _breathtaking_.

Alec seems rather unable – and admittedly rather unwilling – to so much as glance away.

_Yeah, best not think about that either._

“Hm, there are actually several pieces of magic from several sources. The stone is definitely a portal shard, though not a normal one from what I can tell. There is something… off about it,” Magnus provides, tone thoughtful, brow still furrowed. “The spells infused into the chain itself were cast separately, though they have intertwined to some degree, stretching the original spells into something broader and more contained at the same time.”

Magnus is caught somewhere between wanting to curse out Valentine for once more managing to create ever-more chaos and feeling so utterly, helplessly delighted at the obvious trust Alexander is willing to put in him by coming here, by asking for Magnus’ help. No doubt that he’ll give it, no doubt that he’ll do everything not to betray his trust.

 _That sort of easy trust… That’s quite something, isn’t it_ , Magnus thinks to himself, rather helpless against that soft adoration curling through his chest as he once more glances up at Alexander, sees the Shadowhunter watching him in return, utterly open about his fascination with his magic, no embarrassment at being caught staring.

A thought which only has Magnus’ smile tilt up the slightest bit further.

Though, back to the task at hand.

“I’ll need a bit of time to dissect all of the various spells on this if I don’t want to overpower them at the same time,” he says. Which is the absolute truth. Because while he can already feel several rather familiar magics twining around this one necklace, can feel some of Ragnor’s magic and a little bit of Dot’s as well, there are definitely other enchantments that have nothing to do with any of his friends and that feel quite a bit less… friendly. It’s always best to be careful with those sorts of mixed and meshed magics, lest you unintentionally overload one and set off some sort of chain reaction that might just end in a truly spectacular unintended fireworks display potentially blowing his entire city block sky-high.

Alexander is nodding, brow furrowed but not in a way that speaks of impatience at Magnus not being able to tell him everything within a few mere seconds of being handed the necklace. _How nice_ , he thinks cheerfully. _No unrealistic expectations and no tantrums when I then don’t manage to meet those._

“Can you tell whether those visions Valentine sent Clary were purely one-sided or whether he might have been able to watch her right back?” Alexander is then asking carefully.

Magnus blinks. _Ah. Well, if that’s what he’s suspecting Valentine might have intended by talking to Clarissa, that certainly explains why Alexander is so very clearly bothered by this thing._

It’s admittedly not even entirely unrealistic either. Magnus feels himself frowning as he once more lets his magic softly drag along the intricately woven magics intertwining along the chain.

“Hm, it doesn’t appear so,” he finally supplies, fairly certain of his assessment. “Whatever Valentine used to send Clary visions was most likely based on Jocelyn’s own connection to the necklace, who then handed it to Clary, and is thus connected to her in turn. That sort of magic should be unidirectional.” He tilts his head. “Though, I can’t say for certain until I’ve dissected the various enchantments on this in more detail. Whatever sort of portal this shard came from, it has… twisted some of the other enchantments cast on it into something else entirely.”

Beside him Alexander is nodding apparently satisfied with Magnus’ promise to get him answers as quickly as he can, though the frown on his face has in no way abated, definitely still bothered by something.

Magnus casually twirls his fingers, to cast a few wards around the necklace, rendering it entirely magically inert to the outside, before he once more returns his focus to the Shadowhunter beside him.

Alexander who is watching him, barely gives the softly shimmering dome of the containment ward encircling the necklace at Magnus’ behest before it shimmers out of view again a single glance. There is something far more careful in eyes, something almost the slightest bit hesitant in his expression now. Clearly, the Shadowhunter is far less certain about what he is about to say next.

“You know Clary,” Alexander finally provides rather leadingly, something careful und measured in his voice, but his eyes still rather intent.

Magnus blinks once, tilts his head the slightest bit in surprise, admittedly not having expected that particular line of inquiry to come out of Alexander deciding to ask for his help. Although, it takes him barely a second to realize just what Alexander is _actually_ asking.

Because if there is so much as a chance that this necklace might have given Valentine any sort of access, if Clarissa still used it, if she gave Valentine access to information he really shouldn’t have, Alexander would be rather remiss in his duties as the Institute’s de facto leader to not question her allegiances.

Magnus would be lying if he hadn’t considered just how easily Clarissa is letting her estranged father play her either, how effortlessly she is letting him use her to deepen the divides within New York’s Shadowworld, sparking conflicts between the various factions, pushing them ever-towards active distrust, ensuring that not a single party will be willing to trust any of the others.

Considering she only found out about the Shadowworld mere days ago, she already has quite the track record.

First there was the Institute’s so recent invasion of Hotel Dumort on behalf of her mundane friend – even if Magnus knows to lay most of the blame for that particular mess at Camille’s feet for having her clan abduct a nephilim-associated mundane at all – and killing several members of New York’s most powerful vampire clan in the process. Neatly ensuring that no vampire will be willing to work with the local Institute for the next couple of decades or so.

Then there is the death of the seelie scouts who had been sent after Valentine also on Clarissa’s behalf to help find Jocelyn. Just thinking about the potential fall-out of that particular mess, the demands the Seelie Queen might soon decide to start making of Alicante, is already giving Magnus a headache.

Add to that the almost successful slaughter of Magnus’ own ducklings by succeeding in drawing him away from the Lair right when the Circle was ever-so-coincidentally planning an attack on those under his protection…

At this point, Clarissa only needs to start some sort of mess with the local werewolves and the pattern of her tendency to start fights between the various Shadowworld factions will be complete.

If nothing else, she sure is efficient in the chaos she produces.

So, Alexander’s question is more than justified.

“Well,” Magnus provides, giving a fluid shrug. “I know her mother, Jocelyn, who also brought her daughter along a few times when she was younger. However, I hadn’t seen Clarissa in years before yesterday.”

He watches a frown form on the Shadowhunter’s face, clearly having hoped for something a little more concrete. “She is Valentine’s daughter,” Alexander adds just as leadingly as his last statement.

“True,” Magnus hums thoughtfully. Then adds, “Although, for all of her admittedly rather suspiciously timed entry into the Shadowworld, Clarissa doesn’t give the impression of someone who would nefariously try to harm other people.” He pauses, but then decides to be honest. “If only because she is far too convinced of her own do-goodery to harm the image she has of herself by ever actually intending to do anyone any harm.” He knows the smile currently on his face isn’t particularly kind, but he’s never been a fan of double-standards, egotism, or manipulation, actually loathes all three. And Clarissa seems to have a rather disturbing tendency to combine all three in her general approach to life or the people in it.

He sees the corners of Alexander’s lips twitch upwards in sardonically amused agreement. Good to know the Shadowhunter can read other people perfectly well.

And while Clarissa as the actual mastermind behind the scenes seems more than unlikely, that in no way mitigates the damage she has shown herself so very willing to bring to everyone else just as long as she herself does not suffer for it.

So, Magnus shrugs and adds honestly, “However, while I doubt that she is purposely putting anyone at risk, she is also the very embodiment of the worst sort of self-righteously self-involved mundane teenager, who has never struggled a day in her life, never considered anyone else’s wants but her own, and thus perfectly convinced that the entire world solely revolves around her and whatever she might want at any given moment.” He sighs, suddenly feeling more than a little tired, has seen this sort of thing happen far too often in his life, has seen it play out countless times, with the sparklingly pure hero forever coming out on top, not a spot on them and not a single thought given to those they are stepping on to reach that wonderful bright light at the top.

Thing is, being a hero to _one_ group of people is easy, rather laughably so. Hell, Magnus himself could flatten the entirety of New York’s Shadowworld tomorrow if he wanted to, could take over the entirety of the Americas no problem if he got a few of his friends in on it, creating a utopia for any warlock willing to live under their rule. He has that sort of power and the allies he’d need, not to even mention the ever-present, ever-growing frustration at the status quo amongst his immortal brethren, enough so that even those who’d disagree with his methods would likely still be willing to support him as an alternative to how things are now. So, he could be a hero to his own people. If only he were willing to ignore the collateral damage or the will of anyone daring to disagree with him, willing to kill or at least drive anyone standing against him out of his city and then simply declare himself and his people the rulers of all things. And unless the Labyrinth as a whole decided to topple him – instead of the far more likely scenario of them collectively deciding to join in on the fun – there would be nothing anyone could do to stop him.

But that’s exactly the point. Saving his people isn’t the problem. Being a savior to _all people alike_ , that’s the hard part, the _impossible_ part. Through all his centuries of life, Magnus has yet to meet a single person who he thought might qualify for that sort of thing, or who even seemed like he was trying to be. Maybe one day he'll meet someone who has the power to change things but won't use it for himself or only a select group of people of his choosing. Someone who'll put everyone's fate above everything else, even above themselves.

In the end he just shrugs, resigned as he meets Alexander’s eyes, “Which doesn’t change the fact that, in her self-centeredness, Clarissa has likely never spent so much as a thought on the harm she might be doing to others, even if unintentionally so. Just as long as it doesn’t affect her, consequences of her actions simply do not enter her mind as something to concern herself with at all. Because there has always been someone to protect her from them.”

Alec almost wants to sigh.

Because, isn’t that the perfect summary of every reason why – despite the leeway Alec had been willing to give her due to her upbringing – the longer she is around, the less he can stand that girl. No merit to her name but still determined to put her view of the world above everyone else’s, determined to bend the world just right for herself to fit into it as its absolute center. No matter the costs to anyone else.

Alec is well-aware that he has always had more of a ‘big picture’ kind of view of the world, even more so than most, despite being perfectly able to keep individual wants and needs in mind for whenever he is able to integrate both sides of the coin. And, sure, he can deal with other people seeing the world differently, even likes having someone to remind him of those things around, like Izzy and Jace for example, who have always been more concerned with individual fates than with the effect any decisions might have on their world in the long run.

However, there is a level of ‘me first’ sentiment when approaching life that goes against everything Alec is willing to accept from anyone at all, be they Shadowhunters, Downworlders, manipulative little woe-is-me girls, or even his own siblings. It’s nice to hear that he is not alone in thinking so, in thinking that there has to be a line somewhere.

Even if Alec has to be the one to draw it himself.

He is frowning to himself, trying to fit everything he knows about the current shifts of New York’s Shadowworld into one complete picture, trying to figure out the best path forward. He knows he needs to leave soon, still has to go visit one of the faerie representatives and then needs to meet up with his mother for the rather uncomfortable discussion that awaits him there.

But despite having generally asked his questions, despite having no real reason to stay here any longer, he honestly just wants another few minutes of this, of this calm and warmth and comfort, where he doesn’t have to pretend to be anyone but exactly who he is, where he doesn’t have to hide huge parts of himself, where he is so clearly wanted.

And clearly Magnus can somehow tell. Or maybe he simply feels the same.

Because after another couple moments of silence, like he is waiting whether Alec might have another question to ask, something else to address or to ask him for his help with, Magnus tilts his head, leaning just the slightest bit forward as he offers, “The fate of the Shadowworld aside, could I maybe convince you to stay for lunch before you have to go?” The warlock’s smile is coy but something so honestly hopeful in his expression that Alec couldn’t possibly say no to that.

Just the smile – brilliant and bright and so warmly delighted – which his agreeing nod gets him, is absolutely worth delaying his other duties a little while longer. Besides which, this seems like the perfect time for him to for once actually partake in that fabled lunch break he’s heard other Shadowhunters talk about sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was supposed to be rather full of plot-development, actually, with Clary creating messes and Malec fixing things... But then Alec kept all introspectively ruminating over how much he adores being around Magnus and then Magnus’ delight at that very fact, and in the end I just couldn’t bring myself to completely cut this bit… Next chapter will however definitely have plot. I promise. Well, at least to the best of my abilities of telling my muses what to do XD
> 
> Would love to know what you think :D
> 
> And thanks for all your comments and kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

Upon Alexander’s agreement to stay a little longer, Magnus promptly calls one of the bistros barely a few minutes away to order a light lunch, hoping for the food to arrive quickly, honestly looking forward to getting to spend a little more time with Alexander.

He really has no idea what he did to deserve having this adorable Shadowhunter in his loft, having him return so soon after last night, having him so very willing to trust Magnus, enough so to ask his questions – about the recent happenings, about the various players on the field, about the oh-so-intricate politics behind it all – in the clear belief that Magnus is going to answer him honestly, or at the very least as honestly as he can be. And to now even have Alexander agree to stay for lunch even after all of his questions have already been answered, no additional reason to stick around. Not beyond him maybe being just as keen on spending a little more time around each other as Magnus himself is.

Which isn’t even mentioning that slightest pink tinge to Alexander’s cheeks earlier when Magnus had smiled at him in delight upon his agreement, the bashful but definitely pleased quirk to his lips even now as he watches Magnus right back.

There is something about the way Alexander is so clearly unused to being anyone’s focus of attention, the way his fingers twitch against his thigh from time to time whenever Magnus lets his smile tilt into something that hints at a little more familiarity, at something just the slightest bit more intimate, how Alexander gets rather clearly flustered from time to time under Magnus’ unwavering attention but in the absolute best way. It’s in the way the Shadowhunter’s eyes flick away for the barest of instances sometimes – particularly after having made Magnus laugh with one of his rather sarcastic comments or whenever Magnus says anything that even vaguely resembles a compliment – supposedly focusing on the mug of tea in his hands for a second or two, clearly struggling with letting too much of himself show, but gaze forever returning to focus on Magnus once more, perfectly mirroring the way Magnus himself feels. Caught somewhere between being unable and being unwilling to truly look away.

Which isn’t even mentioning the shared sort of humor between them, the effortless flow of conversation and the way they just seem to _get_ each other, the easy understanding that really shouldn’t exist between two people who only met yesterday, the way Alexander’s lips tend to quirk up the slightest bit, something honestly happy tugging at the edges of his smile, whenever Magnus finds himself laughing genuinely at some of the Shadowhunter’s delightfully sardonic commentary.

By magic, they’ve only known each other for two days and Magnus is already so very caught by this boy.

And despite how clearly unused Alexander is to all of this, he still stays, continues to perfectly hold his gaze whenever Magnus is the one talking, not as though wanting to prove himself but simply because he wants to. Maybe even because he quite likes being the center of Magnus’ attention.

The thought that this draw between them, this pull that Magnus can’t quite recall ever having felt before, not with anyone, might be mutual is admittedly rather reassuring.

So, he twirls his fingers to let his magic set the table for a nice, comfortable meal, nothing overtly romantic but definitely a little more intimate in setting than he might go for usually. He purposely doesn’t react to the way he can see Alexander watching him from just a few steps away, the way he is focused on Magnus molding his magic, watching his powers curl through the air, twisting reality to Magnus’ whim.

Because, well, there is just something about the reassurance that Alexander seems so clearly, constantly aware of the fact that Magnus is a warlock – and one of the older, more powerful ones at that – and thus someone any Shadowhunter is taught to distrust on principle and to avoid whenever possible… So, the fact that Alexander – despite his generally rather Clave-beholden views of the world – seems utterly unconcerned by who or what Magnus is? Like it simply doesn’t factor into it for him? If anything seeming rather captivated as he watches Magnus’ powers curl through the air? Yes, there is definitely something about that, something soft and reassuring and definitely good. Something almost marvelous in how rare it tends to be. Something that makes Magnus feel like he doesn’t have to hide huge parts of himself even while in his own home, if only to make those around him feel more comfortable with their own place in the world, particularly when directly compared to him. 

To the contrary. Alexander is openly watching, focus so clearly on Magnus as he molds his powers, and while the Shadowhunter also seems to be trying not to be too obvious about his staring, he also isn’t trying to hide his general attention either. Magnus really doesn’t know what he did to deserve having Alexander here, again, perfectly aware of who Magnus is and still wanting to stick around.

He admittedly can’t quite help but make his powers a little more flashy than it necessarily needs to be for a task as simple as setting the table, lets the coils of it glow a little brighter, luminously effervescent as they twirl through the air around him, his magic itself rather delighted at getting to show off for once.

And when Magnus then tilts his head to glance at Alexander, meets his eyes, feeling a soft sort of heat curl through his chest when his attention immediately has a slight pink tinge suffusing the Shadowhunter’s cheeks, a quietly bashful smile on his lips, combined with the openly and unashamedly interested glint in his eyes as he holds Magnus’ gaze…

Yes, Magnus is so absolutely looking forward to spending a little more time with this adorable man.

Which is, of course, the exact point in time when Alexander’s phone starts ringing.

The sudden disruption has them both blinking for a second, being so abruptly drawn out of their nice little bubble where the rest of the world somehow stopped mattering all that much.

Another second. And then, Magnus almost wants to sigh in exasperation at the interruption. Clearly, he has used up whatever goodwill the universe thought to bestow unto him today. At least he isn’t alone in his general irritation, going by the frown on Alexander’s face as he reaches for his phone, never mind the exasperated sigh he gives once he glances at the screen and sees who is calling.

Of course, the Shadowhunter still takes the call and, even though he glances at Magnus as he does so, there is nothing apologetic in his expression. Something which Magnus is perfectly alright with. If anything, it would feel more than a little disingenuous if Alexander pretended not answering his phone was ever an actual option for him

“Yes,” Alexander answers the call.

A few seconds as the person on the other end talks, and Magnus’ attention immediately hones in on the darkening frown on Alexander’s face as he listens. That expression doesn’t bode anything good. For anyone.

“What do you mean, ‘missing’?” Alexander is asking, seemingly holding his temper rather forcefully at bay.

Absently, Magnus can’t help but mourn the way tension is promptly bleeding back into the line of Alexander’s shoulders, the way all his hard work to get the Shadowhunter to relax the slightest bit since coming here is being reversed so easily by whatever he is being told over the phone.

“Yes, Jace, I got that,” he abruptly cuts off his parabatai, tone clear-cut, though he is clearly working to keep his voice even despite his darkening temper. “But when you say ‘missing’, does that mean kidnapped or that she simply decided to go off on her own?”

 _Kidnapped?_ Magnus blinks even as he watches Alexander’s scowl darken in reaction to whatever reply he receives to that question. _Well, I’m is just going to assume that this is about Miss Fray, considering her almost impressive ability to keep creating messes for other people to worry about._

“Her mundane friend called you?” Alexander’s tone is darkening. “And you’re planning to do… what now?”

And whatever reply he receives to that particular question has something definitely angry flit across his face before it is covered once more. “No,” Alexander asserts strongly, anger and command intermingling with something honestly incredulous in his voice. “How can you even ask me that?” A pause. “Jace, no more Downworlder business. The Institute cannot be seen as interfering in a pack Alpha dispute.”

Magnus blinks. Because, yes, the local Institute deciding to interfere with Downworld power structures would certainly be less than well-received. At all.

However, beneath the command and obvious fury and rather apparent incredulity at whatever his parabatai just suggested, Magnus can also see something honestly resigned in Alexander’s eyes. Something that says he doesn’t necessarily expect his parabatai to listen to him.

He finds that particular thought confirmed when, barely a few seconds later, Alexander is lowering his phone, hanging up, but rather clearly never having gotten a reply to that last assertion of his.

 _Well_ , Magnus thinks to himself. _Looks like today is going to turn out quite a bit more stressful than I had thought._

Alec is furious.

Furious with Izzy and Jace in a way he can’t recall ever being before. _What in the world are the two of them thinking?_

This newest plan of theirs, the plan to simply invade one of the packs’ dens to free Clary without so much as trying to figure out whether she is even in any actual danger or not, much less to wait for Alec to make a call or two and try to solve this peacefully, goes against everything the Institute is supposed to stand for.

Sure, the wolves are definitely messing with things anyone with a vaguely reasonable survival instinct should know better than to poke at. But Jace and Izzy’s plan is still willful endangerment of not only themselves but an entire pack, for no other reason than because they can’t be bothered to wait for Alec to try and resolve this without risking for this entire situation to escalate far beyond what they’ll be able to control. Instead the two of them are apparently planning to storm in with seraph blades already drawn, no regard for Downworlder lives, knowing full well that none of the werewolves they’ll find there is going to do either of them any real harm – if anything that the wolves will do everything in their power not to, actually – if only to avoid the Clave’s retaliation that would immediately follow if they were to injure a Shadowhunter in any way.

Such is the power of the Clave. It’s not any Shadowhunter’s individual strength that makes the Clave so formidable. To the contrary, compared to the powers of some Downworlders, Shadowhunters tend to be rather laughably outclassed on an individual level. However, it’s the ever-present threat that any action against any individual Shadowhunter might just bring about the retaliation of the entire Clave on any and all Downworlders’ involved. The fact that Shadowhunters are a unified, worldwide organization whereas Downworlders tend to be organized in small groups or city-wide structures at most. That’s the power of the Clave.

However. In compensation, Shadowhunters are bound by the laws of that same organization that protects them, binding them to rules and laws and regulations that are supposed to ensure that power is never abused. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be. Something his siblings apparently couldn’t care less about.

When did Izzy and Jace stop caring about the restrictions that are supposed to bind them? When did they decide that none of it applies to the two of them, that – as long as it is about Clary – they get a free pass on everything? When did they decide that laws are something only other people have to abide by? That they are special enough not to concern themselves with something as trivial as the balance of power of their world? When did they stop trusting Alec to take care of things?

When did they stop trusting Alec, period. 

He turns towards Magnus who is watching him, not even pretending not to have listened in on Alec’s conversation.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Alec says, honestly means it as well, would have really liked to stay a little longer, maybe actually have that lunch they were just about to sit down for. Alas, when does he ever actually get what he wants.

Raziel, he’s so very done with everything at the moment.

Another glance at Magnus shows him that the warlock is still watching him attentively, definitely interested in knowing what’s going on, but not actually going to ask for an explanation. Like he would certainly like to know what’s happening but perfectly willing to leave it up to Alec to either tell him or to keep it to himself. Since Magnus apparently understands having to keep things on the down-low sometimes, understands having to keep things on a need-to-know basis, understands having to make those calls sometimes.

In direct contrast to certain other people in Alec’s life who he could name.

Then again, there really is no reason not let Magnus in on this. He is the High Warlock of this city, so he’ll likely hear about this mess soon anyway, especially if Jace and Izzy actually go through with this newest plan of theirs of storming a pack den. Magnus knowing about the newest mess his siblings are about to create ahead of time isn’t going to change anything.

Alec sighs, honestly exhausted at that thought. “Clary and her mundane friend apparently decided to go back to her apartment, where they were taken by one of the packs. And now Jace is planning to…“ He pauses, still rather incredulous at his parabatai’s solution. “…. _storm the docks_ to free her.”

Magnus blinks, tilts his head, lips quirking upwards, something rather derisive sparking in his eyes. “Like a knight in shining armor,” he smirks, tone more than a little condescendingly amused.

“Yeah,” Alec sighs, so absolutely done with all of this that he can’t even feel offended on his parabatai’s behalf at Magnus’ rather obvious ridicule.

Honestly. What in the Angel’s name is wrong with Jace and Izzy at the moment? What happened to common sense? Or at least vaguely thinking situations through? When did his siblings turn into little children he has to babysit every minute of the day lest they promptly get themselves into trouble and drag the entire Shadowworld down with them while they’re at it?

“Well,” Magnus then smiles after another moment of thought, giving a fluid shrug, though there is something the slightest bit tentative in his eyes as he watches Alec despite the casual gesture. “If it’s one of the packs, and not just some rogue group of werewolves, them taking Miss Fray should be rather easy to resolve.”

Alec blinks. And blinks some more, frown forming on his face. Because in all his dealings with the Downworld ‘easy to resolve’ has never once applied to any of it.

He might not be privy to the details of the various political entanglements of New York’s rather numerous Downworld factions but he is also fully aware of the fact that – between century-old alliances and grudges being held across the spans of various immortal lives, with entire races unable to stand each other unless it’s to present a united front against a common enemy, with werewolf packs fighting each other for territory and vampire clans claiming entire city blocks for themselves, with seelies forever willing to delightedly twist things ever-further in their games, with tempers which, if frayed, can lead to magical temper tantrums that might just flatten their entire city… – one needs to be more than just careful whenever forced to poke at the inextricable mess that is even just their city’s Downworld. Never mind on a more global scale, or whenever other dimensions are brought into it, when it gets bad enough for the Seelie Court from their realm or the Warlock Council from the Spiral Labyrinth to deign to step in.

Alec rather desperately wants to avoid being responsible for kicking loose a situation that might warrant anything of the sort.

Magnus seems to have taken his – admittedly rather baffled – silence as agreement to whatever the warlock is apparently suggesting at the moment, already twirling his fingers, a portal springing into existence in front of them. “A direct path to the docks, leading right to the front of the Jade Wolf,” the warlock says with a sweeping gesture. Then a grin, “After you, my dear.”

Alec blinks once and then he is already stepping forward, through the portal, doesn’t even stop to ask what Magnus might be planning, far too intent on having a reason to turn away and thereby not letting the warlock see the heat he can feel creeping up his neck at the so casually thrown-in endearment.

If no one else sees him blushing at something so simple, then Alec can pretend it never happened at all.

You know, since this is so absolutely not the time for him to ruminate over just why a simple endearment like that, somehow has him blushing in a way he can’t recall ever doing before. Not even during their rather heated making-out last night. Yeah, best leave that particular revelation for later to think about.

* * *

To Alec’s honest surprise, the situation with the werewolves who decided to take Clary is indeed rather easily solved, just like Magnus said. Which, admittedly, might be mostly due to said warlock’s presence.

The two of them arrive at the docks only a few moments before the others, Izzy and Jace both coming to a rather abrupt halt from their rune-enhanced sprint when they see not only Alec – never mind that he had been specifically protesting them coming here just moments ago on the phone – but also Magnus already stepping through the portal leading to the front of the restaurant.

Magnus, who barely tips his head at the two of them, nothing at all cordial about the almost-greeting, an obvious sort of disregard in the gesture that would usually serve to raise Alec’s hackles for the dismissal being shown to his siblings. However, right now, he honestly can’t be bothered to feel anything of the sort, far too annoyed with the two of them to want to defend them against the slight. To the contrary, he is rather tempted to tear into them right this second himself.

He never gets the chance to do either, because before anyone can say anything or ask what Magnus might be planning to do, the warlock is already stepping towards the Jade Wolf, sweeping through the entrance.

Like he has every right to be here. Like there is no one who could possibly stop him.

The certainty, the quiet and calm, but utterly immovable self-assuredness Magnus is admittedly rather breathtaking, has Alec almost spellbound. _Yet something else to not think about right now_ , he thinks to himself _._

“Russel,” Magnus is greeting the Alpha cheerfully the moment they are through the door, the warlock all happy cheer and smooth ease and a presence that fills the entire room. “I heard you’ve been looking for things that you really shouldn’t be looking for,” he adds casually, ignoring the way the entire pack has instantly risen, quite a few of them in a defensive sort of crouch. Though, that part seems to be far more directed at his company – as in, Alec and his siblings – than at the High Warlock himself.

There is a pause, even as the werewolf Alpha slowly follows the rest of his pack in rising from his seat where he had been sitting across from Clary at one of the tables, a scowl on his face, eyes cutting towards Alec and his siblings standing just the slightest bit behind Magnus. “Magnus,” the man finally greets, eyes returning to the warlock, and Alec can see the definite care in the wolf’s gaze as he watches the High Warlock so suddenly in his den.

Who is watching him back just as attentively, even though with less carefulness in his expression. Still, the respect being shown between the two, if only due to their roles as leaders in this city, is obvious.

“Now,” Magnus adds just as casually as before. “I have to ask, what in the world made you think that going after a nephilim artifact could ever be a good idea?”

The werewolf’s expression instantly twists into a wordless snarl, teeth showing in his anger, though none of it seems to be directed at Magnus himself. “It’s leverage,” the Alpha practically growls. “To make _them_ listen to us.”

The slightest pause as Alec keeps himself from wincing at the emphasis on that one word, knows who the ‘them’ are that the werewolf is referring to.

Finally, Magnus sighs, nothing at all put-upon about the honest resignation in his eyes now, as he agrees softly, “In a perfect world, sure, that’s how it would work.” He shrugs fluidly, even though his words are anything but as he adds, “But come now, we both know that if any Downworlder came into the possession of the Cup, it would lead to immediate retaliation by the Clave to regain it, whether said Downworlder ever intended to do anything nefarious with it or not.” Another sigh, eyes sharp and something so strangely immovable about the warlock, in direct contrast to the casual tone of voice as he says, “If you do manage to find the Cup, your pack will be wiped out the very moment anyone realizes as much, by the Clave or by the Circle. And I could never let that sort of injustice stand.” He pauses, tilts his head. “However, I am so absolutely not in the mood for starting a war today.”

The werewolf scowls, opening his mouth, likely about to say something less-than-deescalating in return, his honest anger more than obvious.

He never gets the chance.

Suddenly, Magnus’ friendly façade drops, leaving something far harsher and darker and utterly immovable in its wake, a sort of pulse almost seeming to run through the room as everyone instantly comes to attention at the not-at-all-physical-but-somehow-still-almost-tangible change of the atmosphere around them, as though the very air itself were honing in on anyone in the room, Magnus’ to command as he wills.

“In case that wasn’t clear, this isn’t a suggestion,” Magnus asserts, voice even but tone darker somehow. A brief pause, heavy and grave and no one daring to so much as move as Magnus’ very presence seems to fill the entire room, suddenly inescapable. “I will not have you starting a war _in my city_. Much less a war with the entire Clave and over an angelic artifact that by its very nature is of no use to any of us.”

Everyone seems to be holding their breath at the unmistakable power permeating the air, a sudden sort of pressure in the room that definitely wasn’t there just moments ago. Magnus’ eyes are focused on the Alpha, his voice so weighty it has every single one of Alec’s hairs standing on end.

Magnus remains utterly calm in contrast, unfazed by the way the entire room seems to have almost frozen like prey in front of a predator, intones calmly and just as immovable, “Whether Miss Fray knows where the Cup is currently located is entirely irrelevant. You and your pack will not put the peace in my city at risk by kidnapping nephilim off the street,” his lips quirk up into something far more derisive but definitely not directed at the werewolf, “No matter how naively entitled they might be strutting about or how ludicrously above everything else they seem to see their own little agendas.” – _and, ouch_ – “We both know that’s nothing new and it is certainly no reason for you to act on some ill thought-out plots that have no chance of succeeding and risk what little peace we have managed to maintain.”

A pause. Then, Magnus expression suddenly lightens once more, easy and cheerful but the casual sort of all-encompassing power he carries still very much apparent, if only due to the way no one else seems to be quite willing to dare moving yet. “I do so hope you see my point. Lest we might find ourselves having an actual… disagreement.”

And that, well, that’s pretty much it. For all his growling and scowling and the argument that still follows, the werewolf doesn’t dare contradict Magnus again, at least not directly. Which, alright, makes the power dynamics that rule NYC’s Downworld rather perfectly apparent, doesn’t it.

Alec has to force himself to keep his expression neutral, utterly calm, so as to not give anything away, refuses to let himself think about everything he is realizing about Magnus today, how helplessly… _affected_ Alec is by it all.

When the six of them, including Clary and her mundane barnacle, finally make it outside again, Alec honestly wants to sigh in relief. That entire mess could have gone so much worse. So, _so_ much worse.

And, best of all, since it was simply a conversation between the High Warlock and the local pack Alpha, it’s a Downworld-internal dispute and there is no need for any of this to be reported to the Clave. Sure, Alec is still supposed to report these sorts of observations, but he honestly thinks, this time, he might just… not.

Because, well, … He glances over at the others around him.

Clary looks smugly vindicated, Jace perfectly satisfied with how everything went, and even Izzy is looking like she might mainly think of everything that happened as great fun, entertainment. Never mind the absolute clusterfuck they just barely managed to avoid by way of Magnus cowing the wolves into agreement.

Out of all of them, only the mundane kid looks properly terrified, like he can barely believe he managed to make it out of that entire mess alive at all, which already makes him more capable of reading a situation than the rest of them.

And Alec honestly wants to smack Izzy and Jace, wants to write them up officially, wants to put them through the harshest training they’ve ever gone through for the next couple of years, if only to have a reason to smack the lot of them around a little, get them off their so self-righteous horses and get rid of some of his own frustrations in the process.

Because, why are they looking like this is some sort of victory? Didn’t they hear what was just said? Didn’t they hear that the only reason Magnus put a stop to the werewolves’ plans, the only reason why the pack conceded in the end, was because the Downworld knows it would be them who’d pay in blood and limbs and lives for daring to go after the Cup. Didn’t Izzy and Jace get that the wolves only went for Clary at all because of their desperate hope of finally getting some leverage on the Clave, something to make their own situation better, to shift the balance? Didn’t they get the implications of Magnus talking about a war, something that by definition goes beyond just their city, beyond one pack being wiped out? Damn it all, didn’t they hear that Magnus practically spelled out the fact that if it came down to it, he himself – New York’s High Warlock and, thus, likely all other warlocks in the city – wouldn’t be on the peacekeeping side, most certainly wouldn’t be on the _Clave’s_ side. Magnus more or less announced barely a few moments ago that – if the Clave dared to wipe out a Downworlder group in his city without sufficient cause – he himself would be the one starting that war he so clearly wants to avoid?

Didn’t the others hear any of what was just said? Didn’t they get any of the implications?

Going by the general air around them of smugly satisfied vindication, apparently not. Apparently, they didn’t get any of that at all.

Alec eyes his siblings, not for the first time wondering whether his immutable stance on them getting to live their lives as they please – his insistence on their parents not putting any of the pressure of being a Lightwood on them, to solely put the responsibilities of belonging to one of the Old Lines that hold up the balance as it currently exists, within Idris and outside of it – might not be coming back to bite him currently. Seems like his siblings might have entirely missed the fact that the freedom with which they live their lives is a luxury, not a privilege. And one that others keep paying for.

Then, Clary is turning towards their group once they have moved a little away from the restaurant. She is smiling happily, all guileless cheer as she says, “Thanks for coming to help me.”

It’s said so casually. The same way you’d thank someone for helping you carry your bags or passing the salt or something. None of the gravity this situation demands.

He keeps his face neutral, doesn’t react. Though, it turns out that, for once, he does not need to.

“Do not thank me, Miss Fray,” Magnus is replying. Alec instantly glances at the warlock. Because, while his words might seem like a casual ‘you’re welcome’, his tone of voice doesn’t sound particularly friendly at all.

Clary apparently doesn’t notice, her expression instantly brightening, clearly thinking herself absolved of any debt she might have incurred for Magnus coming to bail her out.

Which is already bad enough, but then she is turning more fully towards the warlock, expression bright and cheerful and perfectly harmless on the surface, even though her decision to switch between her dark, contrary scowl in front of the werewolves earlier and her current I’m-a-harmless-helpless-little-girl is rather blatant. Blatant in the inherent manipulation, that is.

Alec honestly wonders whether she is even aware of the about-face in her own demeanor or whether she honestly thinks no one else is going to notice.

“It’s great you’re here,” she starts, looking at Magnus. “I went to pick up some of my mother’s things earlier, and it would be great if you could track her for me.” Her smile is still perfectly friendly, never mind that she is currently trying to commission a really rather expensive service from a warlock without mentioning any sort of compensation on her end. “You mentioned you could scry for someone’s location just as long as you had something of theirs, didn’t you?”

Alec honestly wants to frown at how familiarly she is talking to Magnus, how casually she is expecting his help. Despite only having been around the warlock for all of an hour or something yesterday.

But to Alec’s endless relief, and in direct contrast to his willingness to help her yesterday, Magnus seems unwilling to let that stand. Instead, the warlock just watches her, the silence in reaction to her demand stretching almost uncomfortably between them, until he finally lets the corner of his lips tilt upwards. “I do indeed have everything I’d need for that sort of tracking at my apartment,” he agrees slowly, making her expression immediately brighten in satisfaction.

“Great,” she enthuses. “I brought my mom’s things, so we could go to your place right now.”

There is just a brief moment of silence as she watches Magnus expectedly.

“We could,” the warlock then agrees calmly, voice casual but his eyes sharp. “But you forget, Miss Fray,” he adds on easily. “You are in fact not welcome in my home.”

The entire group blinks at the unexpected turn, Alec included. Though, his reaction might be far more due to trying to hide the rather vicious satisfaction that runs through him at Magnus’ refusal, the way he can’t quite help but compare it to how easily and happily he had agreed to Alec coming by the loft when he called to ask for Magnus’ help earlier today.

“But…,” Clary starts, so clearly taken aback. “You helped me. Yesterday you helped me with my memories.” She sounds so forlornly hurt at Magnus’ simple assertion that she isn’t welcome to barge into his home, it has Alec’s teeth clench. No one would be that hurt by someone they met less than twenty-four hours ago not liking them personally. “And- and just now, you came to get me away from the werewolves.”

Magnus watches her right back, though more in an off-hand manner, nothing nearly as intent about his expression as Alec has seen it in situations that actually seem to matter to him. “I didn’t come here for your sake,” the warlock provides casually. There is something so casually dismissive, unconcerned about him right now… It’s almost a little jarring, especially in contrast to how clearly the warlock cared even about the werewolf Alpha and his pack he had been ripping into verbally mere minutes ago. “If anything, I was helping the pack not make a tremendous mistake.” He shrugs at her, all fluid grace and still perfectly dismissive. “They are too young to know what the Clave can be capable of if given enough reason. If not for that, I wouldn’t have cared to step in at all.”

Well. Alec isn’t too sure whether he should believe that. Even in just the little amount of time he has known Magnus, ‘not caring’ really doesn’t seem to be one of the warlock’s strengths. At all.

Then again, it is rather apparent that Magnus is mainly trying to get a particular point across to Clary right now, possibly even to the others of their group watching, maybe even to the werewolves most likely still listening in on their conversation from the restaurant only a little distance away from where they are standing.

Because, yeah, everything else aside, even Alec can confirm that finding the Cup if you’re not a Clave-loyal Shadowhunter is likely the quickest way to get yourself and anyone you have even a vague sort of contact with killed. It says a lot about the Shadowworld that, if a Circle member were to get their hands on the Cup, even if they actually used it for nefarious purposes, they’d still be treated far more leniently than any Downworlder so much as daring to go after the Cup, successfully or not, could ever hope for.

There is a reason why Alec doesn’t take orders from Idris blindly anymore, hasn’t done so for going on a decade at this point.

Clary is still blinking, clearly shocked that any of the events today, any decisions anyone made here, might not have had _her_ at the very center of their considerations. And going by Jace’s scowl at Magnus, clearly his parabatai thinks the warlock committed some grave offense by not adoring Clary the same way Jace himself does.

“As for yesterday,” Magnus continues. “I completed a transaction commissioned and paid for by your mother years ago,” he confirms easily. “Because those memories were yours. But that business is concluded and thus there really should be no reason for us to interact any further.” A brief pause, a casual shrug. “Especially with the way you have been behaving. You remind me far too much of your parents for me to ever want to associate myself with you or your agenda.”

It’s said so easily, casually, like a conversation about the weather.

Clary breathes in, honestly surprised for once. “What do you-,” she cuts herself off, staring wide-eyed at Magnus.

Who is watching her right back, like he might be looking for something but has yet to find it in her. Like she is coming up wanting on several ends. Finally, he says, “You might have the excuse of not knowing anything at all about the Shadowworld, and that is not on you. Jocelyn dropped the ball in that regard, so a certain amount of ignorance on your part can be excused. However, your general disregard of lives lost or even of common decency is entirely independent of that. If people die due to your actions it is on _your_ head. Good intentions count for nothing if they lead to other people’s end and they most certainly do not absolve you of any guilt incurred.” The warlock’s gaze is suddenly intent, weighty, tone still even but an abstract sort of warning in his voice. “You should mourn those lives lost, whether they were on your side while you are trying to protect a friend or whether they were defending their own home from being invaded.”

Alec almost wants to wince. Because he’s getting a definite inkling of just where this might be going.

Clary, however, clearly doesn’t.

“No one died!” she exclaims loudly, her hand flinging out to gesture broadly at the wolves’ restaurant, clearly not getting what Magnus is referring to.

“Ah,” Magnus tilts his head. “But today isn’t the only time you have started a conflict that you had no way of mitigating or ending if needed. Just this week you have not only let yourself be used as a decoy for the Circle to lure me away from my warlocks, as much as that is just as much on me and everything worked out fine. But you also freely invaded the home of one of my children, killing several of his clan in the process.”

Clary blinks, clearly catching up to what Magnus is talking about. “The vampires took Simon!” she exclaims promptly.

“They did. But did any harm come to him?” Magnus asks, voice almost eerie in how calm it is.

“They kidnapped him!” she reiterates strongly.

“Yes, but was he harmed?” he nods. “Was he harmed or was his life truly threatened in such a way that it might justify you taking several Downworlder lives while invading their home? Did your presence there and your brutal assault on their home benefit you in any way or even seem necessary? Or did it turn out that one of the vampires whose home you had just invaded then did everything he could to get the lot of you out safely?”

Clary blinks and Alec can see Izzy frowning now. Even Jace is looking mildly uncomfortable at that depiction of the events at Hotel Dumort.

The silence stretches, Clary apparently unwilling to say anything to that.

Finally, Magnus shrugs in a rather dismissive so-you-see manner, as though her silence is answer enough. “You are just like your mother in that,” he says, though it certainly doesn’t sound like a compliment. “Forever claiming not to intend any harm to come to anyone at all, but forever acting without a single thought to the consequences that might be suffered by others,” Magnus smiles a not-at-all-happy-smile. “You see yourself as righteous, no matter what may come of your actions,” he adds. Though it is the next sentence that clearly hits home the hardest. “So, I reiterate, you truly are exactly like your parents. And I do mean both of them.”

Clary flinches, finally something beyond that absent sort of offense, something honestly hurt in her expression at the parallel being drawn between herself and her father. It has Jace frowning, though a dark look from Alec has his parabatai surprisingly stay silent.

“The end does not justify the means, Miss Fray,” Magnus concludes. “Not ever. And until you learn to think otherwise, I repeat, I have no interest in being in your presence, much less to associate myself with your incredibly self-obsessed agendas.” He calmly glances at the others in their group, but doesn’t bother to include them into that statement beyond that. At least not out loud.

Then again, the sentiment is more than clear.

And maybe Alec should be offended by someone talking to his parabatai and his sister like that. However, everything Magnus just said is so perfectly truthful, the exact reason why he found himself going to a near-stranger earlier today hoping for a neutral view point, to talk through some of the more essential recent revelations in his life. Instead of talking to the people who are supposed to be closest to him, unwilling to trust Izzy or Jace with any of his more world-shifting thoughts. Because, for whatever reason, the two of them seem to have so recently decided that they are above quite literally anyone else, that they are special somehow. Special enough that they do not need to abide by the laws they themselves are still so willing to enforce, by lethal means if need be.

The mere thought makes Alec uncomfortable.

It’s even more jarring when directly contrasted to Magnus, a High Warlock, so powerful that the entire werewolf pack whose den they just invaded barely dared to contradict him, apparently considering his word on what goes and what definitely doesn’t go in ‘his’ city an immutable sort of law in the eyes of other Downworlders. A warlock who, despite his obvious power, magically and politically, however seems unwilling to use it for anything other than to protect those around him, to keep the peace, who so very clearly cares about all of them, everyone around him…

Alec has to admit, there is something more than a little breathtaking about that.

He doesn’t know what to make of the fact that, for the first time in his life, he finds himself thinking that – if he were forced to make a choice right now – he’d sooner align himself with Magnus’, a Downworlder’s, view of the world, than that of those supposedly closest to Alec.

Earlier, when it had been just the two of them at the loft, even while talking about some rather contentious topics regarding Shadowworld politics, the warlock had been perfectly cheerful, soft and genuinely kind while talking about others and full of generous pure warmth. But this Magnus? He may still wear that same casual front, expression still friendly, voice still genial. But there is pure steel behind it, something so utterly immovable, uncompromising, unbendable it has Alec honestly a little breathless to see.

Which, alright, by now even Alec is starting to lose track of his list of things-he-finds-rather-distractingly-captivating-about-Magnus, things that have Alec – for the first time in his life – honestly attracted to someone, to _Magnus_ , can feel his general, somewhat abstract appreciation for Magnus’ power and beauty and engaging warmth bleed into something else, something _more_. Something that has Alec incapable of so much as glancing away.

Then again… Magnus’ genuine kindness towards everyone around him, his mesmerizingly pretty smile, the way he is so breathtakingly generous towards anyone he meets, inconveniently flustering around Alec, maddeningly coy while gently teasing, almost perplexingly engrossing in conversation, beguilingly gorgeous, pure warmth in his every action… And all of that combined with a core of pure, unbendable power, the strength to bend the world to his whim but offset by his uncompromising conviction to protect everyone he comes across?

Honestly, how is Alec supposed to find himself anything other than utterly captivated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's been a long time since I posted a chapter quite this long for any of my fics, it usually only happens towards the end of my fics when the plot really starts picking up speed or when I'm tying up loose ends... But splitting this halfway through just seemed too disruptive to the flow of the chapter. So, here you go, have a double-chapter :)
> 
> And I know this is rather different for Magnus and Alec compared to usual (canon as well as my own fics)... But, well, them being a little more uncompromising around others and all soft and gooey while it's just the two of them is kind of the point of this entire premise :3 And the idea that Alec's reaction to him and his powers might also be somewhat reassuring to Magnus in turn and in combination with him not feeling guilty for the massacre at the lair as he did in canon... :D
> 
> Would love to know what you think!
> 
> And thanks so much for all your wonderful comments and kudos <3


End file.
